WAS I FOOLIN MYSELF | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [5]
Description: The THREE times you can't have him no matter how much you want to
Length. 15.2k
warnings: angst, spencer's addiction mentioned, gory cm cases (medical trauma, removing limbs, human marionettes etc) explosion, broken arm and surgery, slight lemon at end but not actually written just described aftermath, Maeve arc (I'm so sorry), guns, almost dying, blood, general cm warnings, anything else let me know!
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Authors note; I will edit in the morning I just really wanted you all to have the next chapter as promised!!
'I'ma strike these matches, never had control,
I'm ready to let go, no, was I fooling myself?'
The one with the wedding
JJâs ears were ringing, a high pitched whine like a radio skipping between stations searching for a signal, and she felt the hard concrete against her milky skin before the throbbing in her forehead hit.Â
âJJ, are you alright?â There were hands at her shoulders, patting her down for fractures, not wanting to move her if her spine had been hit, and it wasnât until she rolled herself over, eyes frantic and in shock that she saw Morgan.
âWhereâs Will? Whereâs Bugsy?â She asked, the words blurring into one word. Her legs were struggling to a stand before she could think too much about the concussion she almost definitely had, giving Morgan a quick once over, âDid they get out of there?âÂ
But she hadnât seen any movement before the blast had shot them back ten feet to the floor. Had only seen the back of the youngest Prentiss womanâs head as she rushed into the building to get emergency medical care to her partner.Â
âWhereâs Emily?â Morgan added, and the two of them realised they were missing perhaps three of the most important people to them with no sign of life from any of them.Â
It didnât take much for JJ to take off bolting into where the bankâs entrance had crumbled to the floor, where the dust hadnât even settled and they didnât know whether there was a second set of bombs waiting for them. They didnât know anything.Â
And it was for that reason JJ dipped straight into the wall of smoke, hand tight on her gun as she went to look for survivors.
Morgan and Hotch were hot on her heels, a dozen firefighters and medical in tow, a similar face of dread in their expressions.Â
Aaronâs heart was in his throat when they entered the building, the west facing wall almost entirely in smithereens on the floor. The dust choked him the second they ran in, and he coughed before he could even get a word out, hand flying over his mouth to try give himself some kind of filter to the air.Â
âBugsy!â He yelled as loud as his dry vocal chords would allow, âBugsy, give us a signal,âÂ
Nothing. Nothing but the sound of JJ and Morgan screaming for Will and Emily just as loud. And even to that they received no answer.Â
It wasnât until they got close enough to the rubble and began seeing the bodies did Aaron start to fear the worst. He called her name again, her real name, splitting up from the rest of his team because it was no longer a mission for the UnSubs, it was now a search and rescue.Â
He crouched to press his fingers against a womanâs throat, stomach flipping when he felt no pulse beneath them, before he moved onto another one, his eyes darting between the chunks of brick and ceiling to see if he could spot anything that looked like an FBI jacket.Â
It wasnât until he found one of the men donned in a SWAT uniform, his gun long since dropped to the tiles that he knew he must be close. It was one of the guys who had gone into the buildings seconds before her.
He felt for a familiar thrum of a heartbeat, his breath thick in his throat when he managed to get a slow and steady thump, and he immediately began signalling for medical attention.
Paramedics came running over with a stretcher between them, but Aaron wasnât finished, Not until he saw her.Â
He dodged around the large chunk of stone that piled in the centre of the room, cringing when he saw a splatter of blood on the tiles in front of him, and it was only when he saw a hand splayed out on the floor did his heart truly stop.Â
His cold eyes were wet with fear as he traced the hand up its arm, the familiar blue he wore himself ripped to shreds, the skin beneath it broken and the bone snapped clean in two. He could barely make out the three letters, F. B. I. that were so covered in blood and dirt it almost matched the navy, before he got the pillow of familiar hair matted against a head that faced away from him.Â
But it was her. There was no doubt about it.Â
He thinks he said her name, but it might just have been a sob, because he fell to his knees quickly, scrambling to get to her face to see if she would respond to him at all.Â
âBugsy, I need you to wake up,â He ordered, though it sounded like a hiss of pain, his rough hands finding her young face, desperate for any movement behind her eyelids, âCome on, sweetheart, just tell me what day it is,â
Years of training on what to do in a crisis and the correct first aid to give to someone unresponsive flew out of his brain, leaving behind bits and pieces like getting her to talk to see whether she had severed anything in that big, amazing brain of hers that had so much promise.Â
He leaned his ear down next to her nose, looking down the front of her chest to check for any signs of breath.
This was too similar to what Foyet had done with Haley, like a horrid deja-vu he wouldnât wish even on their worst UnSub. He had been too slow, too stubborn, too stupid to stop her from getting hurt. He didnât know what her blood on his hands would feel like, didnât know if he would ever sleep again knowing he had gotten her killed.Â
Aaronâs stomach flipped when he saw her ribs rising slowly beneath her vest, her breaths cold against his earlobe.Â
âGuess itâs my turn to come back from the dead, huh?â A croaking whisper came softly, and he flicked his head around so fast he thought he might have whiplash.Â
But her eyes were open, squinting and tired, and he cursed the fact he had only then noticed the cut on her forehead, red ichor pumping fast and restlessly down the side of her face.Â
He gave a breathless laugh, though it pained his own ringing ear to do so, stroking gently down her face with the same care he would put Jack to bed with.Â
âGotcha,â She smiled up at him sheepishly, her brows furrowing when she seemed then to notice the tears rolling down the tip of his nose, âAaron Hotchner crying over me, are pigs flying today?âÂ
He chuckled wetly, and his eyes were the warmest brown sheâd ever seen them when he looked down at her. He turned his attention away for a second to call over medical, his eyes landing on Emily who was also frantically scanning the wreckage for her sister and giving her a sign too.Â
âYou gave us quite a scare there,â Aaron said softly, because judging by the bump on her head, and the way blood was pooling in her ears, he guessed her eardrums had been damaged in the blast. Emily was over to them in seconds, looking dishevelled herself, and she gasped into her hands when she saw her sisterâs fragile form.Â
âBugsy- oh my god your arm,âÂ
The girlâs face dropped, eyes widening as she tried turning to see the damage but Aaron was faster, quickly blocking her view of the mangled mess of skin with hand over the side of her head.Â
âWhatâs wrong with my arm?â She asked, and he saw nothing but his son with a scraped knee in her eyes when she looked up at him vulnerably. Emily fell to her knees next to her, taking over from Aaron by stroking her sisterâs cheek, because if her adrenaline rose too much, then the numbness of the shock would wear off and she would feel it all.Â
âI think itâs broken, but the paramedics are going to fix you right up, I promise,â Emily cooed, though she felt herself go a little white at the sight of her sisterâs bones so mangled and in pieces.Â
Aaron looked up when he heard Morgan calling his name, spotting the paramedic team navigating their way back to where the three of them sat, and he waved his hand up to let them know where they were.Â
He bit his tongue, looking down at where Bugsy was clearly starting to wake up more to just how bad of a state she was in, and she watched him woefully be torn between helping the rest of his team or staying with her.Â
âYou guys can go, Iâm no use on the case anymore,â She said, despite the fact she was terrified of what might happen if they left her alone.Â
âAre you crazy, absolutely not-,â Emily was cut off when two EMTâs rounded the block of concrete and brick that had missed her by a few inches when it had fallen, a stretcher and med packs at their side.Â
âGood to see youâre responsive, Agent Prentiss,â One of the EMTâs commented, opening his case up to retrieve a neck brace and a splint for her arm before they could move her to the stretcher. Bugsy smiled up at them, though she knew it looked like a wince, taking one more look at her sister and then at Hotch, both of whom looked stuck between a rock and a hard place.Â
âGo, Iâm serious. Will needs you,â She said, feeling Emily squeeze her hand gently, pressing a kiss to her hairline, looking down at her in worry, âGo, Emily. Just bring me pudding when you get to the hospital- no Jello-â
She hissed when the paramedics slipped the brace over her shoulders, strapping her head into place to stop her doing any more damage to her spine.Â
Emily nodded, and her and Hotch took off round the corner to where Morgan was calling them, and Bugsy let the paramedics fuss over her some more, taking the pain killers without a second glance once she realised just how broken Emily had meant when she saw her arm.Â
It got hazy from there, until she felt the sun on her face and she felt a hand grab her good side. Her eyes were rolling with the fact she was fighting off sleep, or maybe she really had lost more blood than she thought. Either way she managed to flick her eyes open enough to meet hazel hues, distraught and worried, heard a familiar voice calling her name sadly, but she was too far gone by then. Her eyes shut despite her fighting them, and she was wheeled into the back of an ambulance by the friendly EMTâs, and the doors shut before her medicated brain could even recognise the voice as Spencer.Â
She was asleep before she could protest to it.Â
â
The air smelled like bleach- no, like floor cleaner had been drenched all around her, like she had been dropped into a janitor's closet and spilled every bottle over on her way in.Â
Her body felt stiff, and she frowned when she felt cramp in her fingertips, pain shooting up her wrist the second she tried to move them. Her eyes opened blearily, and she groaned in protest at the overhead white lights, burying her face into the scratchy sheet that covered her body. Only then did it click that she was in a hospital.
She moaned again when she tried moving her legs and her whole body protested, her bare legs rubbing against the paper like material in a way that made her cringe, and she felt only the hospital gown and underwear on her body.
âYouâre awake,â The voice startled her, and she realised she hadnât even heard the door open in her haze. Spencer stood in the doorway, three big bunches of flowers and two teddies in his arms, one of them holding a sign saying âYouâre bear-y brave!â
What got her was the look of worry in his eyes when he took her in head to toe, his eyes lingering on the bright pink cast on her lower arm up past her elbow.Â
She grimaced, following his eyes to the horror, âSexy,â
He rushed over to her bedside, all but throwing the flowers and cuddly toys on the space where her legs werenât curled up under the sheets, pausing for a second to assess the situation.Â
âSpencer, you didnât need to get me all of this,â Bugsy said, her cheeks warming when she saw her favourite flowers right at the end of the bed, blooming right in her direction, âIs everyone okay? Is Will okay?âÂ
He nodded, but had yet to say anything, and he fiddled with his fingertips the way he did when he was struggling to get his point across properly. She reached out with her functioning hand to take them in hers, because she hated when he wouldnât talk to her.Â
âSpencer, Iâm fine, itâs just a broken arm, right?â The woman asked, trying to shuffle herself into a sitting position only to yelp when her side burst into pain. He rushed to put his arm behind her back, to get her to lay back down without putting too much pressure on her sternum, âWhat the fuck is that? I feel like I got hit by a baseball bat,âÂ
âThatâs what happens when you run blindly into a building without waiting for backup,â Spencer said, an undertone to his words she had never heard from him before, âTwo cracked ribs; youâre lucky your lungs are still intact,â
Shit.Â
âAnything else?â She asked, a grim look on her face as his expression soured.Â
âAlmost tore one of your eardrums, moderate concussion. They had to put pins in your arm to fix the fracture, it was transverse before you ask, lacerations to your legs from the glass, and some shrapnel they pulled out while you were in surgery.â Spencer listed, propping a pillow behind her head for her to rest against more comfortably though he still seemed annoyed, âNo biggy,â
She paused for a second, watching him like a scolded child, her lips pulling down slightly, âAre you upset with me?âÂ
He sighed, running a gentle hand over her leg that was covered by the thin sheet, and she felt the sting of cuts on her skin just like heâd said.Â
âIâm not annoyed, I could never be annoyed with you; you just-â He huffed, looking up at her sad eyes and feeling his resolve crumbling immediately, âYou canât just throw yourself in the way of danger, you have people who care about you, people who love you,âÂ
She bristled for a second, looking into her lap and chewing the inside of her lip worriedly, âI just wanted to help Will, I just didnât want JJ and Henry to lose him the way I thought I lost Emily,â
Spencerâs heart sank, and any telling off he was going to give her for worrying him left him in seconds, and he forgave her embarrassingly fast.
Taking her hand back in his gently and scooching a chair closer to the bed so he could sit with her, he looked up at her with the sweet, puppy eyes she had always loved on him.Â
âI know, I know you just wanted to help,â He hushed her, using his other hand to stroke her hair behind her ear, âNext time just⊠wait for your lucky charm, remember?âÂ
She smiled brilliantly, and he almost could ignore the butterfly stitching on her forehead or the bright pink cast on her arm, or the fact her clothes had looked like a crime scene when theyâd shoved them in a biohazard bag with how soaked in blood they were.
Her pretty tweed pants and white shirt sheâd bought especially for his Dr Who convention to make him happy, wasted.Â
âWhereâs all my clothes?â She asked, like sheâd read his mind, but then again she had been known to do that.Â
He pouted, because he knew sheâd hate the answer, âEmily said they had to cut it off to get you into the brace properly; they ran some scans first to make sure your spine was intact.â
âAll of my clothes?â She baulked, and he knew she was upset before she could even say so he stroked his thumb over her hand for good measure, âBut my lovely shirt- and the pants they were so cute, werenât they?â
âThey were so cute,â He agreed, even though he thought she looked good in everything.
âAnd- oh my god they got my bra too?â She asked, wide eyed and horrified like she hadnât had a building dropped on her, like this was the worst part of her day. Spencer opened his mouth to say something, but he thought better than to tell her it wasnât a big deal and he was sure Pen could take her shopping for new ones even if the thought of it made his cheeks flush red, âThey got the best one, Spencer, that was my best one with the little bows and the lace at the back- fuck,âÂ
She huffed, rubbing her temple in annoyance seemingly completely unaware of the situation sheâd put him in, when JJ slowly entered the room, looking more tired and stressed than she had in months, but there was a little glow in her face that washed it all away.Â
âJJ, they cut off my favourite bra,â Bugsy huffed, holding an arm out for the woman who came to stand at the opposite side of the bed to Spencer, and JJ quickly leaned in to hug her close, Bugsyâs head pressing against her stomach, âIt was the only one that fit perfectly, now look at me. Wasted.â
âI can get you another one on Monday after Will and I have stopped by the courthouse,â JJ said, her eyes alight with mischief like she had a secret, and Bugsy frowned, looking up at the woman.Â
âWhy on Earth would Will be buying me- Wait,â The girl stopped, her breath catching in her throat as she took in JJâs sheepish blush and girlish grin, âCourthouse? Youâre getting married!âÂ
JJâs smile was beaming, and Bugsy yanked her with her one good arm into a side hug, just about as much as her ribcage would allow, and Spencerâs face lit up equally, though he was quick to usher Bugsy back into a resting position so as not to jostle her stitches.Â
Spencer drove her home that night after she got discharged, and he helped her get settled back into her own bed, her face still a little bitter at the fact her favourite underwear set was âtotally mismatched nowâ; her words, not his. He put a documentary on for the two of them until it was time for some more of the painkillers the doctors had sent her packing with, and she fell asleep pretty quickly after that.Â
He watched her breaths rising and falling slowly, the sight of her on that stretcher being wheeled into the back of the ambulance flashing in his head like a horror motion picture. Her face had been soaked in blood, her neck in a brace that looked tight enough to crush her, her eyes were weary and dim from what he knew now was the sedative effects of the painkillers.Â
Heâd almost brought up the fact heâd found a geneticist willing to take a look at his MRI scans to help his migraines; almost brought up that she had finally got back to him with results and a plan of vitamins and dietary changes he could make to help ease his flare ups.Â
Spencer almost mentioned it, but he fell asleep listening to Bugsyâs breaths, checking for irregularities, before he had the chance to.Â
â
Hot pink did not match ditsy blue whatsoever, she had quickly decided, but the bluebell, floral dress was the only thing she owned long enough to cover the scratches on her legs and arms, and hid the majority of the hideous cast that weighed down her arm.Â
Spencer had encouraged her not to come to JJâs âengagement partyâ, had encouraged her to stay at home and sleep; promised her he would rustle up the best chicken soup sheâd ever tasted if it meant she would stay on the couch and rest her marred body.Â
But then Rossi had said he just simply couldnât let a nice occasion go to waste. A few phone calls later, a drop in the ocean of his wealth and within two days the yard to his stately manor had been turned into a ceremony, the whole arch, pews and altar style.Â
âYou should worry so much, you look lovely,â Spencer softly chided her when he saw her yanking her sleeve further down her arm, trying to cover the hard shell that protected her radius while it healed. She did, despite the fact he had to help her do her eyeliner because she could only do it with her right hand, or that there was still a nasty cut on her forehead that was scabbing up.Â
She was still beautiful as ever to him. And it made Spencerâs chest sore.Â
It felt like something had cracked between them since that night she had been dropped to his, her pupils wide as dinner plates, her inhibitions lowered to zero, and had pecked his lips like it wouldnât tear him up inside to have her so close to him knowing it was everything he had ever wanted.Â
He knew if she ever kissed him again he couldnât keep it in anymore, couldnât stay in this limbo they had found themselves in where all he could think about was how she smelled when she wore his clothes, a mix of his laundry and her skin together, something heâd found himself purely saturated in since she first lived with him after Emilyâs funeral. He loved the way her eyes seemed soft and mellow when she looked at him, loved the way his stomach seemed warm and fuzzy when she held his hand, and he knew it wasnât in the same way it normally was with other people, when he was worried about how many germs they were spreading to him or if theyâd had all their shots or if heâd remembered to pack hand sanitizer. His stomach felt funny, and his skin felt sweaty, and his head got scrambled, and it was somehow good.Â
He would do anything for her, anything she ever wanted from him and it was hers.Â
He knew it way surpassed friendship. It felt like she was his girlfriend, which was absurd because he had never asked her to be. Or maybe it was just him trying to wish it into existence, because he knew he would never ask her. She was too good for him, too good for this world let alone a scrawny, know-it-all like him.Â
She simpered under his words, looking at him with tired eyes, though he could tell she still yearned to fluff up her hair or fix her dress because she felt like a polished turd right now.Â
âThankyou,â She said quietly, immediately spotting a waiter carrying a tray of champagne passing by and reaching for a little flute, âWant one? Thank you,â
Spencer shook his head politely, quickly spotting Emily and Morgan moving into the garden with Hotch and Beth not far behind them.
âIâll be right back, just wait here a second,â He said, gently stroking over her spine with his warm hands, before he darted towards the group. Jack took off running towards Bugsy the second he saw her, and Spencer heard the small âooftâ leave the woman as he collided with her stomach and nearly winded her. He was getting bigger by the minute, Spencer swore.Â
âDonât you look dashing, boy wonder,â Morgan teased, flicking his finger under the lapel of Spencerâs two piece suit that Bugsy had told him more than once fit him like a glove, âSomeone to impress?âÂ
Spencer blanched, his eyes shooting to Emily who seemed to hide a smile, because his feelings for her sister were about as plain to see as the moon that coated their evening in a blue glow. Hotch looked over the younger agentâs shoulder, to where his son was throwing cents into Rossiâs fountain with Bugsy and making wishes, his eyes quickly falling to the pink cast around her wrist, and his face hardened.Â
âHow is she?â He asked, lips pursed.Â
They had seen her in turns at the hospital, but most of the time she had been extremely out of it, Hotch had managed to catch her right before they took her into surgery for her arm, and even then heâd been ushered right back out of the room because they were getting her prepped to be scrubbed down.Â
Spencer bit his lip for a second, glancing over his shoulder at Bugsy fishing through her purse with her one good hand for more nickels, before he looked back at them, âShe doesnât want anyone to make a big deal about it, and donât bring up her arm or her forehead, sheâs a little delicate-â
He was cut off by Penelope squealing behind them, and they turned in unison to see the blonde woman cupping Bugsyâs face, checking herself for more abrasions, stroking over the younger girlâs shoulders as she simply allowed herself to be ragged like a doll.Â
Because it was Penny. And Penny always meant well.Â
Spencer flustered worriedly, and Morgan chuckled behind him, wrapping an arm over the kidâs shoulder.Â
âCanât protect her forever, lover boy,â Derek said, patting him before he let go, taking Emilyâs elbow and walking over to where they were serving hors d'oeuvres.Â
Spencer knew that, knew she could handle herself just fine without him. That was what worried him the most.Â
â
JJ looked beautiful in her motherâs wedding dress. Bugsy welled up with happiness, true happiness when she saw her friend walking down the aisle with her son, a spitting image of her, in one hand, her fatherâs arm in the other.Â
Will looked besotted, but then again he always did when he looked at JJ.Â
Bugsy felt the love in the entire yard as they said their vows, kissing each other without restraint under the floral arch as Henry covered his eyes with a little giggle and an âeww!â which made everyone chuckle.Â
The violinists began playing soft hymns as the couple had their first dance, and Henry migrated towards the woman with the pink hand and the sapphire dress.Â
âBuggy,â He tugged on the bottom of her skirts, huge, sky-blue eyes blinking up at her behind a mop of blonde furls. âBuggy, your hand!âÂ
She knelt down to hear the three year old a little better, and immediately tiny fingers trailed over her wrist worriedly.Â
âYour hand, itâs hurt,â He said, and Spencer crouched to comfort the boy who he still remembered holding hours after he was born.
âI know, I hurt myself at work,â She said, letting him run his fingers over the pink shelling, his eyes wide and confused about the new material, âBut Mommy saved me, and she saved your Daddy, and she saved you, didnât she? Isnât she so brave,âÂ
Henry smiled, like all his thoughts of his mommy being Wonder Woman were true, and he nodded, stepped towards Bugsy while making grabby hands for her neck, âUp,â Â
Spencer was about to protest, because he didnât want her to push herself, but he knew she could never say no to kids, especially ones as cute as the boys.Â
âAlright, big man, up we go,â She put her good arm under his bottom, Spencer holding under her shoulder to help her into a stand with a repressed grunt, âJesus, what did you eat for breakfast today. You really are a big boy, Henry,âÂ
She put him on her hip, shoving off the way it stung her superficial cuts because Henry seemed happy, grabbing a section of her hair in his tiny hands, and stroking her head gently in what Bugsy guessed was the way JJ stroked his when he was unwell.Â
âMommy says you have to have a magic kiss when you get hurt,â Henry babbled, and she smiled, her cheeks hurting because the kid was just sweet enough to eat.Â
âOh, yeah? Is mommy magic then?â She entertained, feeling Spencer still a ghost over her shoulder in case she started struggling to hold the pre-schooler. His godson laughed like she told a joke, shaking his golden locks as he answered.Â
âNo, Buggy,â He giggled, patting her cheek as she scrunched eyes shut with a smile, âYou get a magic kiss when you get fixed. Like this,â He leaned in, leaving a big wet smooch on her cheek that made her giggle, tightening her hold on him with a shiny jaw. Henry turned to where Spencer watched them with a dazzling smile, pointing up at him, little fingernails waving in his face, âSpencerâs turn,â
His godfather faltered, his cheeks turning red and Bugsy looked between the two of them, amused.Â
âI canât, Iâm afraid Henry. Iâm not magic like you and mommy,â Spencer replied, trying to brush the boy off as kindly as possible. Henryâs face frowned, because he had watched Uncle Spencer pull a coin out of his ear not even half an hour ago and so that statement seemed ridiculous.Â
âYou have to! You have to give her magic kisses or she won't get better!â Henry ordered, trying to grab Spencerâs bow tie with vigour, âYou have to!âÂ
âAlright, alright,â Spencer agreed, his hands shooting up in surrender, âIâll give her magic kisses,â
Bugsy looked at him with a heart stopping smile. She looked soft like butter, syrupy and warm as pudding. The moonlight washed her pupils with something like a cartoonish twinkle, and he hoped his forest eyes didnât turn to two love hearts the way he felt like it did.Â
He raised one of his hands to her cheek, the same one Henry just kissed, holding her still. She was cool in the night air, or maybe his hand was just too warm because he was so nervous. He hoped he wasnât shaking, but her jaw fit into the palm of his hand like it was always meant to be there.Â
He dipped his head in to give her a long, delicate kiss to her cheek, running a thumb down the apple of her cheek.Â
He pulled away from her, and they exchanged a look, something in her eyes he had rarely seen before. Figuring it was discomfort, or maybe just the light playing tricks on him, he stepped away, and Henry was quickly distracted by a frog hopping through the mildewed grass, and he set Bugsy on the task to help him catch it.Â
Spencer busied himself talking to Will and Derek in the hopes his heart would calm down any minute soon, but he had quickly felt himself becoming somewhat addicted to the feel of her skin beneath his lips. He wondered lewdly if the rest of her would feel so soft as her cheek had, and immediately scolded himself for it.Â
The thought haunted him for the rest of the night.
-
Penny twirled her around by her good arm, and the two of them giggled like school girls under the fairy-light woven pergola, the string quartet finishing off the fast paced song they had switched up the mood with. The blonde was careful about not jostling the woman too much, she could already feel Spencer and Emilyâs worried looks from where they sat together at a table, nursing their drinks mid chat.Â
But whether it was the fact she had been cooped up for days on bed rest orders (Spencerâs, not the Doctorâs, though heâd argued that was the same thing,) or that last morphine patch had really given her a kick up the behind, but she seemed to be hiding the pain well.Â
JJ would only have one wedding, sheâd argued with Spencer, she could have a hundred days in bed, but there would only be one night like this one; when they were all together, safe and happy, when there was enough palpable love in the air that fell over everyone's shoulders like a warm hug. Heâd grumbled that he was usually the optimistic one and zipped up her dress for her with shaky fingers anyway.Â
Before Penny could spin her round even one more time, a figure appeared two tower over the blonde, and a voice cut in between them politely.
âI donât suppose youâd let me lead the next dance, I think Reid and Prentiss might just tackle you if you shake her up anymore,â Aaronâs voice was soft, inviting with the one and a half beers heâd had edging at his tone, almost teasing in a way so rare for a man so stern.Â
Penelope looked over Bugsyâs shoulder to indeed see the womanâs two guard dogs watching her like a hawk, Bugâs already opened purse on Spencer lap where her emergency painkillers were.Â
âOh god, I donât think Iâve ever seen Spencer frown like that, itâs like watching a puppy resource guarding,â Penelope faltered, looking the woman head to toe as if she was being held against her will to dance by the blonde, âYouâre not hurt or anything- youâd tell me if you were hurt, wouldnât you?â
Bugsy chuckled, throwing her good arm over the womanâs shoulder, âRelax, theyâre both worry warts. Iâm having fun, Pen. I think Hotch just wanted a turn with the ugly barbie,â
Against Penelopeâs better judgement, she gave the woman a kiss on the cheek with a sigh of defeat, though she had been so careful not to push her in fear of her cracking another rib, but she had loved seeing Bugsy smile like that again.Â
Derek was quick to swoop in to save her, swooping in to steal her for a dance as Aaron gently took Bugsyâs waist and good hand, entirely respectable and gentle in his touch.Â
âIâm glad youâre okay, your bell got a little rung in that bank,â Aaron murmured, trying not to fret over the gash on her forehead that had a few butterfly stitches pulling it together. He remembered how frail sheâd felt in his arms the last time heâd properly seen her, like a baby bird with its wings snapped in his hands. He was worried he was going to be burying her too, just like he had Emily, just like he had Haley, except he knew for her there wasnât a catch, an escape route to Paris. There wouldnât have been a do over.
But she was okay. Broken bones and all.Â
She smiled at him, as if to remind him just how alive she was, and he saw how her eyes were bloodshot and tired, as if it was taking all of her energy to keep her head upright.Â
âIf you knew how many morphine patches are on my butt right now, youâd freak,â She said, and he laughed, because she was always good at getting those from him. Bugsy relaxed in his arms, and he rocked her side to side sweetly, not quite dancing but moving passively to the soft melody the band was playing.Â
Maybe it was the fact he wasnât in work mode, or maybe it was because the night air was cosy and light, or maybe she just weaselled out the guilt that had been stored in his chest for nearly a year, but he let himself look at her with a sad, sepia gaze, and it was like she knew what he was going to say before he said it.Â
âIâm-â
âDonât apologise,â She cut in quickly, her own expression falling into something forlorn, âYou have nothing to apologise for, Aaron,â
He took a deep breath through his nose, âI do. That wasnât right how I treated you. Youâre not spoiled.âÂ
âI can be, sometimes,â She argued defeatedly, but he shook his head before she could add to it, âYou were doing what was best to keep Emily safe, it was her I was more mad at than anything. Sheâs my sister, she should have trusted me, you and JJ didnât owe me anything.â
âWe owed you a better explanation than we gave,â He said, watching her sigh and rest her cheek on his shoulder. He cursed Spencer for allowing her to wear heels in her condition, though he didnât doubt that the pretty boy had put up just as much fight as he would have seeing her grab the shoes on her way out, âI never meant to hurt you so much. And we do owe you better, weâre a family. Families fight, and they say mean things and they tell white lies sometimes but we love each other, and I only ever wanted to keep everyone safe. Okay?â
She nodded against his blazer material, dropping his hand in the interest of wrapping both her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug, ignoring the dulled ache of her ribcage.
âI love you too,â She murmured, and he gave her a feather-light squeeze back, all too aware of her bones creaking under her skin, âIâm sorry I hit you,â
She let go of him, and he held her hand, the tips of her fingers poking out from beneath her cast that already had Jackâs name scrawled over in black sharpie.Â
âI deserved it, I was being cruel,â He said honestly. He hadnât meant to be so harsh, but the emptiness in her laugh, in the way sheâd stormed out, had scared him. He thought even if she lashed out, if she screamed at him or cried that would be better than the silent treatment because at least then he would know where she stood with him. But instead he had driven the knife in deeper, and for that he couldnât say he blamed her for it, âIâve had worse, much worse. Maybe youâre not as tough as you think,â
She baulked, and realised he was teasing her, âMaybe we could go round two Monday morning, I bet it would hurt a lot having a hard plaster cast swung at your face,âÂ
âFor me or for you?â She smacked his arm with her good hand, and it made him chuckle again, and soon she was laughing too, resting her head back onto his shoulder comfortably, âIâm glad youâre okay, Bug,â
âDid you not hear where I put those morphine patches? I could paper mache with those bastards,âÂ
And they danced between chuckles for another half an hour.Â
â
âWait, wait, youâre going to compress her spine,â Derek stopped, Bugsy dipped at his waist where he was supporting her full weight because sheâd complained she missed dancing with Penelope. She hated people walking on eggshells around her, and if anyone was going to have fun with her who could still make sure she was safe, it was Derek.Â
The woman grinned up at him, Derekâs hands safely around her waist and not pressing on her ribs whatsoever, though she had to admit she was ready for another dose of painkillers after a few hours of dancing between Hotch, then to JJ who had swiftly been taken over by Henry who wanted to be lifted high enough he could hold Bugsyâs hands like he had seen the others doing. David had even entertained her with a very slow three step waltz, until Derek had been her next target because he seemed to be having the most fun whirling Emily around the dance floor.Â
âSpencer!â She said and Morgan returned her to full height once he saw Reidâs fretful expression. She pouted, âSpencer, I was having fun,â
âYou know whatâs fun? Eating cake is fun, drinking water is fun, resting on the couch is fun,â He said, and Morgan was quick to hand the baby Prentiss over to Reid who rifled around his pocket to produce the tablet version of her buprenorphine, âYou need more medicine or itâs going to hurt worse in the morning, remember? Getting ahead of the pain?â
She sighed, nodding, and before he could pop two out of the shiny, metal coated tray, she stopped him, âWait, dance with me first,â
He looked at her incredulously, eyes softening when she stepped closer to him, her hand coming over the top of his to push the pain killers away, âItâs going to hurt more if you donât get ahead of it now,â
âI know, I know,â She muttered, nodding docilely, âLook, I promise if you just dance with me a little now, Iâll have my meds and take it easy for the rest of the night, no questions asked,â
He looked unconvinced, because she was known to put up a fight when it came to doing something she didnât want to.Â
She sighed, âIf I sit down now, I know I wonât be getting back up again for the rest of the night, and I wanted to enjoy myself until I couldnât anymore,â
Spencer looked at her pleading puppy dog eyes, and broke almost embarrassingly fast, letting her follow his hand into his pocket, putting the drugs away and letting her take his now free hand in his own.Â
âIâll have it known I tried to stop this when this catches up to you and you have to go lay down on Rossiâs spare bed,â He argued back, but felt his stomach flip when she laced her fingers with his, pushing herself closer to him as a means of drawing him out of his grumpy mood.Â
âHe has more than enough, just dance with me,â She brushed his attitude off, wrapping her plaster-cast over his shoulder.Â
He took her waist gently, feeling the plush, softness of her hips and wishing the heat away from his cheeks. She looked divine under the fairy lights, ready to be whisked away by sleep yes, but the sleepy blinks added to her charm, and she was soft and pliant under his touch like a tame cat ready to curl up on his chest.
âI had so much fun,â She said, meeting his adoring gaze, probably because he couldnât drag his eyes away from her. He nodded, worrying then if his hair was sitting right or if hid bowtie needed straightening. She was a goddess in his arms, the colour of her dress matching her skin beautifully, a few wisps of hair falling over her eyes from where Penny had damn near done the quick step with her.Â
She looked like a dream.
âI never thanked you for everything you did for me when Emily was-â She gulped, her eyes suddenly down turned, like she couldnât admit anything to the hazel of his eyes, not when they looked at her like that. âYou were the only thing I had for a very long time, and I never really said how much it all meant to me,â
âYouâre my best friend, Iâm always going to be there for you,â He said, lovingly stroking a thumb over her skin, his voice tender as this touch, âThatâs what friends are for,â
Even though he was sure heâd never felt this way about any of his friends before, even the tiny crush heâd had on JJ for all of two weeks when heâd first started at the BAU didnât even make a mark on how she got his chest hammering like a jackrabbit.Â
Her face flickered with something he couldnât read, and she nodded, âRight. Friends.â She swallowed heavily.Â
She slumped against him, like the wind had been taken out of her, her head on his shoulder, but it felt nothing like when she had danced with Hotch.Â
It felt like everything sheâd ever wanted was right in her grasp, like the one person who made her feel whole again was pressed against her, stroking down her spine with an affection she could swear blind was nothing like sheâd ever felt before. Like the only air she knew how to breathe was filling her lungs, every note of fresh linen, the hair gel he sometimes used to tame his curls, down to the faint smell of his apartment, so filled with books the smell of worn leather and thin paper seeped into his clothes.Â
She couldnât remember who she was before she knew Spencer. She felt like sheâd always known him.Â
He wasnât just her friend, he was every bit of her that she wasnât. Every ugly part of her that had always felt so alone, like loneliness was just ingrained into her since birth that seemed to jump up in a strange feeling of longing and home whenever he was near.Â
She let herself revel in his arms as long as she could, because she knew it was so illicit to be feeling so hungry for something she couldnât have. She knew he was too good for her; she had never deserved any scrap of kindness he gave her. She could be mean, and rude, and loud, and ugly, and spiteful and he was everything she wasnât. He was kind, and sweet, and gentle, and loving, and he didnât deserve someone like her; he deserved so much better.Â
Bugsy let herself stay against his chest for a while longer, slowly swaying with him under the moonlight as JJ and Will took each other in their arms; a couple that fit together, Bugsy thought, two people who were so right for one another. Who deserved their happiness.Â
And so she selfishly let herself pretend she could have him as long as she could, silently dancing together under the pergola, until she agreed to go sit down because she would never admit that the ache in her side had started to seep back in, and he fussed over her some more and she told him he was being silly, but she preened under his affections anyway.Â
Theyâd reached a stalemate, Spencer would have probably called it.
Bugsy knew she shouldnât want him, but she did. She shouldnât want him because he was the pretty boy, the sweetheart that sat untainted by everything heâd seen and endured, the one who had jumped and cleared every hurdle life had thrown at him where she had fallen flat. He had gotten better on his own after Hankel; she had crashed and burned and taken nearly everyone with her. He was strong, and she was weak. She shouldnât want him, it was selfish, but she did.Â
Spencer knew he couldnât have her, because she was beyond anything he had ever dreamed of, beyond his best friend, beyond the girl who kissed him and didnât ever want to talk about it again. He couldnât have her because she was still healing, still wounded and vulnerable and rattled from barely recovering her relationship with her sister before sheâd had a bank dropped on top of her. It would be wrong, it would be selfish, she would never want some scrawny kid from a shitty home where he was beaten up by girls even smaller than him and wedgied so hard he had to follow the librarian to class. He was a nobody. He couldnât have her because she deserved so much better, but he wanted her.Â
They sat at a stalemate for a few weeks longer, until Emily got a job offer in London, and she asked Bugsy to take an internship at Interpol one of her old associates had sent to her. Twelve weeks learning how international databases worked, even some forensic work for Scotland Yard if she played her cards right.Â
And she took it; without much warning she took it, even if not to give herself some breathing space from how much her chest pined to be back in Spencerâs arms she had that night.Â
Bugsy headed to London, and didnât look back.Â
The one with Maeve [God Complex.] 8x04
Four Months. Bugsy had been in England for four months.Â
At first, they had called regularly, almost every other day, except the days she was just too tired to stay up until two am to call him when he got home. They had spent an hour on the phone at least; she had asked about the team, the cases, if he missed her yet which he always told her to knock it off because of course he missed her, and he had asked about London, and what England was like, and how Emily was doing.Â
Until around two months in when her schedule had changed to night shifts, and they could only ever communicate by texts, at which point he had been the one struggling to talk because he had no clue how to work his phone. She had called the odd time on her half an hour lunch break, but it was always rushed, never consistent, usually ending up with her excusing herself and hanging up on him fast because she was needed urgently somewhere else.Â
Cynically enough, the only time she could ever call was Sundays. Sundays when he was already busy, Sundays when he was admittedly on the phone, only he wasnât talking to her.Â
He was talking to Maeve.Â
The geneticist he had been ready to tell her all about before JJâs wedding, who had all but cleared up his migraines within a few sessions, who had asked him three days after Bugsy had flown out what had made his head flare up again and so heâd told her. Told her his best friend moved to another country temporarily, that he missed her and had been looking after her cats for her while she was gone because her new landlord wouldnât let them have pets. And it had spiralled from there, she had asked more about the rest of his life, and he had asked about hers, and suddenly they werenât just talking about his migraines anymore, they were flirting.Â
He hadnât told Maeve that he was in love with said friend who had taken a great opportunity with both hands and fled the second she could. He couldnât hold it against her, not when he was choosing his calls with Maeve over the only chance he had to speak to Bugsy, and four months really wasnât that long in the scheme of things.Â
That was what heâd tried telling himself at least. He missed her more than anything, and the only thing that heâd found combatted the sting of her being gone was Maeve.Â
Maeve; who he had never seen, whose voice was sweet and alluring, who got his humour the way girls rarely ever did (besides Bug ofcourse). Who liked what he liked, and could talk his ear off about what sheâd been reading, and about her day in the lab.Â
She was Bugsy in every other font, every other manner, and best of all she liked him. She told him weeks ago she liked him, that she wanted to date him, that he was her dream guy.Â
Call him a cynic for enjoying having a chance with someone, then thatâs what he was.Â
Life since he had tried pushing away his unrequited feelings for one Prentiss girl had been going swimmingly. He liked their new team mate, Alex Blake, the brilliant linguist who warmed to him quite quickly; he had a girl at his heels who returned his feelings, who was everything he always said he looked for in a partner, even without having ever seen her face, and he was rather enjoying having Nico and Sergio around to keep him company.Â
But as it always did, the contented limbo heâd found himself in where he might actually be able to get a girlfriend came to a screeching halt on Sunday afternoon when he was stepping outside at three forty-five, readying himself for the ten minute walk to the nearest phone booth for their call at four pm on the dot. He had just about locked his front door, turning on his heel with his scarf draped over his shoulders when he had collided with someoneâs chest.Â
âOh Iâm so- Bugsy?âÂ
âSpencer!â She smiled at him wider than she ever had before, and she threw her arms over his shoulders because he had never protested to her affection before, âItâs so good to see you- I missed you so much, thereâs so much I have to tell you-â
âWhat are you doing here?â It sounded like a confrontation, though he hadnât meant it that way, just that he hadnât been expecting her back for another two weeks at least and he certainly hadnât expected to see her today, right before he was about to go call the girl he was sort of seeing, sort of not.Â
She bristled at his tone, because he didnât sound nearly as happy to see her as she had expected. Pulling away, she realised he hadnât even bothered to hug her back, and she tried to shove away the embarrassment that sheâd never ever felt in front of him before.Â
âI- just- I wanted to surprise you. Interpol said I could finish early since Iâd finished all my paperwork and could take the exams online in a few weeks,â She stammered, feeling uncharacteristically stuck for what to say. He flicked a look down to his wrist, his brows furrowed like she was taking up too much time, âIs something wrong, did I do something wrong?â
âNo, you just-â He breathed heavily out of his nose, running a hand through his hair, âIâm late for something,â
âIâll drive you!â She jumped at the chance, fishing for her keys in her pocket, âCarâs right out front, I sort of just threw it there because I wanted to see you,â
âIâm walking,â He said, in that frustrated tone again and she stopped looking at her jacket, her eyes snapping to his as he looked past her like she was in his way.Â
âO-okay, well then do you want company?â She said, her bag heavy with the souvenir she got him, though now it seemed to be weighing her down.Â
âItâs sort of personal,â He replied shortly, like she was a stranger selling him something on his doorstep, when really he was just cursing his luck that the girl heâd spent months trying to get over was here in front of him like someone was waving a bone in his face and he was a pup being told to sit. He was cursing the fact that he had spent hours and hours dreaming of the minute heâd see her again and she had showed up out of the blue after weeks of little to no communication like a damn hallucination of the senses.Â
She stopped then, her face contorting into a frown, âIs everything okay, are you sure I didnât do anything-â
âYou could have called, Iâm kind of busy, Bugsy,â Spencer replied, even though he knew he was being unreasonable. It wasnât her fault she was unravelling all of his progress just by being there. He thought he was finally getting over her, and with one whiff of her perfume, of her shampoo mixed with her natural scent, he was remembering just how in love with her he had been just a few months ago, like Pavlovâs fucking dog.Â
Her face fell then, into something kicked and hurt, âSorry- my phone died on the plane, I didnât even think, I just- I just wanted to see you,âÂ
He faltered, the frustration leaking out of him, but before he could really say much else, sheâd taken a step away, swung around to head for the stairs, âSorry, Iâll call next time, sorry I got in your way, Spence,âÂ
And she sounded genuine, not annoyed like he would expect for someone whoâd been spoken to like trash. The guilt seeped in almost immediately, but then his mind ticked over the minutes he had left until Maeve would be expecting a call. Nine minutes now, he would need to speed walk.Â
He could make it up to Bugsy as soon as he was done with the girl who was almost her but not.Â
â
Spencer felt like an idiot. He hadnât stopped thinking about the look on her face when she had left his apartment, nor had he not stopped chiding himself for not heading straight out after her.Â
His phone call with Maeve hadnât gone how heâd expected, which would have been the only thing soothing the burn of his scathing tone, except she had hung up rather abruptly after he had suggested they meet up, something that had played on his mind for weeks now.Â
âAre you being safe?â He asked, the payphone hard and cold in his hand as he pressed it to his ear.Â
She chuckled softly down the phone, a sound that would have made his heart flutter if he hadnât been feeling so wound up about seeing Bugsy, âYes, Iâm being safe,âÂ
âDo you think he knows about us?â Spencer dared to ask after a moment of silence, because he could tell it was worrying her too. He wondered if the two of them would be dating by now if it wasnât for the fact she had a stalker who may or may not turn his attention to Spencer if he realised they were seeing one another.Â
âNo, as far as I can tell he doesnât,â She said, her voice slightly more rigid than what he was used to. Her voice was always honey smooth when they spoke, and Spencer had more than enough time to wonder if it ever matched what she looked like. âAnd we need to keep it that way,âÂ
The line went dead, and with it the only thing that heâd been telling himself was worth hurting his best friend even the tiniest bit went with it.Â
Spencer felt like an asshole. Heâd tried calling Bugsyâs phone, then when she hadnât answered heâd tried asking Penelope, who said sheâd gone to visit JJ, Will and Henry since he was too busy.Â
At least that would have lightened her mood, he hoped, as he walked into the office Monday morning, and saw her at her desk, already chatting to Penelope with Derekâs arm around her shoulder.Â
She was all smiles today, pretty much how she had looked yesterday before he had all but kicked her out, and the sinking feeling in his chest tripled when she looked past Penelopeâs shoulder and saw him. Her eyes wavered for a second, head turning downwards as if she hadnât properly spotted him,Â
âPretty boy! Look who it is,â Derek called him over, even though he was already speed walking and he stopped in front of her, looking her head to toe for the first time fully.Â
He realised then her hair was slightly different, that sheâd had it cut shorter since the last time heâd seen her, that sheâd gotten a new ear piercing. It made her look older, more mature than when heâd last seen her, or maybe he had just not seen her in so long. Maybe he just hadnât bothered, he thought painfully.
âI saw him yesterday,â Bugsy said, and he felt caught immediately, Penelopeâs head whipping to him, âHe was kinda busy though, werenât you, Spence? More of a passing visit.âÂ
She sounded indifferent to yesterdayâs rudeness, like it hadnât really phased her despite the fact heâd seen for his own eyes the way her expression dropped.Â
âI was- I had an appointment,â He said, because he felt the need to explain himself even if he couldnât.
She smiled at him, something dampened and fake, âI leave for a few months and suddenly boy wonder is too busy to talk to me, what is the world coming to,â She joked, and Spencer felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment, though Penny and Derek laughed.Â
âNo, really, I had an appointment-â He tried to reason, but Penelope stopped him before he could fret too much, his hands wringing and he tried to lie on the spot without getting caught.Â
âSheâs just kidding, Spence, donât worry,â Pen shook him off warmly, quickly grabbing Bugsyâs arm tightly, the faint scar where sheâd had her surgery trailing up her skin, âNow, to my bat cave, where we can talk all about just how good British guys are in bed without the boy germs getting all over our gossip,âÂ
Bugsy laughed, allowing herself to be pulled along, right past Spencer without a second glance, despite the fact he looked like he was about to throw up.Â
Why hadnât he thought about that? Why hadnât he considered for a second that she would meet anyone, if not seriously, then for a one night stand? What if all those nights she was too busy to talk she had been with someone, someone much cooler and hotter and overall more experienced than he was. He was thirty years old and he had only ever slept with two women, one being Austin the bartender sheâd told him to go after despite him lingering around her the whole night, the other being a girl heâd met in OâKeeffes after a hard case when he had been a few months sober, wanting anything, anyone, to take his mind away from going back to the little vial of trouble.Â
How could he be so stupid? Of course sheâd be hooking up with other people. She was young and gorgeous and smart as a whip and single. Sheâd be any guy's dream.Â
He knew he was being so, so disgustingly hypocritical. He hadnât stopped thinking about Maeve for months, and yet here he was seething with jealousy at the very thought of Bugsy being with someone who could love her without feeling guilty for loving her.Â
Spencer swallowed his pride and set his stuff down on his desk, watching Penelope grab Alex and drag her to her bat cave on her way, the older woman lighting up at the fact she was meeting the Bugsy Prentiss.Â
He sighed, running a hand through his hair, and felt a migraine start to ache behind his eyes.Â
â
âAlex- Blake, where are you going?â Spencer called, shoving his cell in his back pocket as he jogged toward the woman about to climb into the SUV.
Sure enough, Bugsy had been back in the office for one hour before they were getting pulled into another case, and she was more than happy to jump in to help with her new found skills in Interpol.Â
It was a gruesome case, which was saying something for all the shit theyâd seen. The UnSub was amputating legs off one victim to then put onto his next one. There had been one guy waking up in his hotel room with both legs missing below the knee, then another gentleman had walked into an ER room with legs that werenât his own attached to his sockets.Â
It made Bugsyâs skin crawl, but that was simply a day's work for them. They were at the most recent victimâs body; a woman who seemed to have been too weak to survive the surgery had been dumped on the street with her limbs switched to someone elseâs. They had at least one other victim they hadnât found yet, the girl thought darkly.Â
âHotch called, he wants us back at the station ASAP,â The woman replied, Bugsy at her side.
âCan you give me a ride to 5th and Main, itâs on the way?â Spencer asked, trying his hardest to ignore the frown the youngest Prentiss gave him, confusion written across her face.Â
âUh, yeah sure. Whatâs at 5th and Main?â Alex asked, also confused as to what was so pressing he needed to side track their case.Â
âI need to talk to somebody,â He replied shortly, the same cut off tone heâd used with Bugsy just the day before, and Alex faltered.Â
âYeah, uh, okay. Sure.â She agreed, not wanting to rock the boat considering she was still so new to the BAU. She looked over at Bugsy, who seemed disgruntled as she headed for the passenger side, Spencer climbing into the back of the SUV with a troubled look on his face when their eyes met in the rear-view mirror.Â
âYouâre coming with us?â He asked, looking on edge when he saw sheâd gotten into their car and not into JJâs like she had on their way over there.
âYeah, is that a problem?â Bugsy asked, and he shrugged, playing with his fingertips in his lap.Â
âNo, thatâs fine, I just didnât know you were coming with us,â He replied shortly, his face starting to warm when he realised how rude heâd sounded. He heard her sigh, and look out the window with no more protest in her.Â
Alex didnât ask questions as she put the handbrake down, perhaps sensing the tension in the car between the two agents, and she didnât need to be a profiler to tell there was either a lot unsaid between them or maybe even words that no one could take back.Â
Either way she did as heâd asked, because Bugsy hadnât actually protested, just bit at her fingernails that said she was thinking too hard, and stepped on the gas.
â
The car pulled around to where a dimly lit payphone sat, empty and looking like it hadnât been used in years. Which it probably hadnât, besides as a dog urinal.Â
Alex stopped the car, and Spencer was already opening the door before she could even put it into neutral, âDo you want us to wait?âÂ
âUh, you know what, it might take a while, so Iâll just get a cab back,â He said, his tone clipped and leaving little room for questions. He felt Bugsy staring at him in confusion from the front seat, and he avoided her gaze like the plague, even if there was something sad in them that he was being so distant. âThanks anyway,â He hopped out the car slamming the door shut, and digging through his pocket for change as he headed for the payphone.Â
Alex drove off, and he felt his chest get lighter for it, because he didnât know how much longer he could keep up the act.Â
He hated lying, especially to her. Every morsel of his being writhed in discontent whenever he would lie, like the truth was just begging to slip out one way or another, and he knew he would only feel all the more guilty for it as soon as the case was over and he couldnât avoid her eyes that haunted him like a wraith or her touch that seemed to have been kept to herself since he had snubbed her hug at his doorway.Â
He knew he was pulling away, knew she was doing the same thing, and he hated it.Â
Bugsy sat in the car, her face moody as anything as she glared out the window and Alex took the corner around the block.Â
âSo is it usually like this between you two?â Alex dared to ask, her food steady on the pedal, âThe lingering looks, the awkward silences? From what Penelope told me, the two of you are as close as can be,â
âYeah, usually we are,â Bugsy replied coldly, and within a second she was unplugging her seatbelt, âIn fact, pull back around the block. Iâm done with him being an asshole without an explanation.â
Alex felt like she had just pulled a pin from her grenade with her delicate question, though she had meant entirely well, and did as the girl told her to, worried just what might blow up in her face if she didnât.
Spencer had already dialled the number he knew off by heart, with or without his eidetic memory, by the time they pulled around.Â
His face dropped, knowing the returning call would be coming any minute now and he just hoped Maeve wasnât too worried about him. But he had no time to think about her, because the second he saw Bugsy getting out of the car he could tell she was pissed.Â
Pissed in a way she had never been with him, but then he supposed, he had never treated her like that either.Â
âIâm going to give you one chance to tell me the truth, Spencer, because Iâm tired of the clipped responses and the pushing me away,â She said, walking over to him like he owed her money. Which he didnât. But he did owe her a good explanation as to what the hell was going on with them, âDid I do something? You can tell me if Iâm an asshole, I know I can be an asshole, but you have to tell me so I can fix it-â
âYou havenât done anything, Bug, just please get back in the car,â Spencer cut her off, which was clearly the wrong move as he saw her brow raise at him.Â
âSomethingâs not right, Spencer,â Alex agreed, though she held back because hurricane Bugsy seemed to be more than enough intimidation for the guy, âWhatâs the deal?â
âWhat do you mean? Why did you guys come back?â He rushed, because he could feel his face warming, and he played with his fingertips like he did when he was struggling.Â
âDonât answer a question with a question,â Bugsy chided, and he rubbed his palm with his thumb self-soothingly, and that was what tripped him up. Her eyes zeroed on his hands, looking back up at him and he almost went white at the predicament heâd found himself in, âYouâre lying about something,â
âNo, Iâm not, I would never lie to you-â She pulled his hands apart, looking at him with hurt written across her soft features.Â
âBullshit, I know when youâre lying, Spencer, or did you just forget that weâre best friends. That seems to mean nothing to you nowadays,â She snapped, and he could only look back at the phone booth, knowing that she would be calling any second now, âAre you even listening to me?âÂ
Her tone was hurt, wounded, because he had to admit he was being inconsiderate.Â
âA while back, I found a geneticist that helped clear up my migraines, and we stayed in touch while you were in London,â He said, because that was all true, and she couldnât call him a liar again if he was telling the truth.
âSo? What does that have to do with the case,â Alex prompted, her own face scrunched in ire as he hopped around the subject.Â
âI think maybe my friend may be able to see something weâve missed.â Spencer rushed out, his eyes puppy like as he willed Bugsy to stop looking so damn betrayed.Â
âYou have four of the best minds I know back at the station, you have a woman with a biochemistry master's standing in front of you who dabbled in medicine for fun, but you need your friend for help?â Alex responded, because there was no way he was getting out of the hole heâd dug himself if she had anything to say about it. She too, as new to the team as she was, had no time for secrets on a job where trust meant everything.Â
âI know, but sometimes a different perspective helps me think better, okay?â He replied, his hand itching to take his palm back because he knew it still wasnât the full truth.Â
Bugsy scoffed, crossing her arms over one another, and shifting her weight to one foot.Â
âYouâre being ambiguous, you always do that when youâre lying,â She muttered, loud enough for him to hear and he gulped, turning his head to the ground.Â
âAll of this begs a bigger question, why did you ask me to bring you?â Alex asked, because she was thinking the same thing.Â
âI donât understand what youâre talking about,â Spencer said, but his spine straightened impossibly when the payphone began ringing, and he seemed skittish like a naughty school child.
âYou could have asked JJ or Morgan to drive you, but you asked me. You had a problem with Bugsy coming, because you didnât think sheâd be with us, so whatâs the deal? Why me?â Alex pushed, and Spencer flustered, his head whipping around to where the high pitched chime continued, and he knew she didnât have much time before the line went dead.Â
âAlex, please,â Spencer begged, feeling Bugsyâs eyes boring into the side of his head as he avoided her gaze like the plague.Â
âJust answer the question,â Bugsy bit out, because she was sick of being ignored all day, of being treated like she was contaminated or like he had never known her a day in his life. Not when she had flown on the first plane back to see him because she missed him more than she could ever tell him.Â
Not when she had been racing up the stairs to his apartment, her souvenir in her bag, the words on the foreword written in her own hand ready to tell him how she felt.Â
Because she knew it, after weeks of not seeing him, hours of just missing him and the few texts back and forth, she knew it. She knew she had to tell him, even if they had to brush it under the rug to be friends again, even if it was a shot in the dark she had to tell him.Â
She couldnât choke it down anymore. Â
Only when sheâd gotten there, thrown her arms around him, he almost felt like a stranger beneath her hand, almost felt like he never even knew her.
Spencer sighed heavily, looking at Alex because he thought he might just crack if he looked at Bugsy when he said it.Â
âBecause I didnât want them to know about her, alright?âÂ
And she knew it then, knew it by the way heâd softened entirely when he said her, the way he seemed to melt just by thinking of her, the way he cowered into taking a step back towards the phone booth. It wasnât just his geneticist, it was someone else entirely. Someone so much more to him. Â
Bugsy felt a lump in her throat, and she forced with all her might to not let her eyes well with tears. Because friends didnât feel like theyâd been sucker punched in the gut at hearing they were seeing someone else. Friends didnât feel an all consuming jealousy writhe under their skin at the idea of them being with someone who wasnât them, feeling something for someone who wasnât them.Â
That wasnât what just friends did.Â
And Bugsy thought with horror, as he picked up the phone and spoke in hushed, gentle tones that he once did with her, that they might never be friends again.Â
The one with their first date. [Lessons Learned] 8x10
Things were weird. Really weird. And painful. Really, really fucking painful.
Bugsy and Spencer had never been like this, never been so cold besides the first time theyâd ever met, and even then she had warmed him from the inside out. She was sharing her sharlotka within hours of even knowing him, never even knowing he was knee deep in an addiction he was struggling to face alone, and that she had made him feel better than he had in weeks with her smile and her kindness and her quick witted brain.Â
Things were strange between them, and it was becoming noticeable too.Â
She boarded the jet behind Alex, the woman taking a seat next to Hotch at the table, the only other seat left being next to Reid, who stopped midway through what he was saying.
âItâs difficult to lure most people from the security of their own homes, eighty four percent of stalking victims have some sort of original connection with their stalkers, meaning-â He paused, and so did she for a fraction of a second, debating whether to sit beside him. She straightened quickly, dipping her head down and looking to the floor, and bristling past the empty seat to sit herself next to JJ on the couch.Â
He cleared his throat, trying to look like his face hadnât dropped in hurt, and continued.
Hotch and JJ exchanged a look, the same silent message reading clear in their eyes.Â
The blonde looked up from her file as the others chatted, Penelope piping up from their computer, and glanced at the younger woman who was unpacking her things on her lap, despite there being a perfectly good table next to them.Â
âYou alright, Bug?â JJ asked, trying not to seem too worried, yet she knew she was coming off troubled by the tense behaviour from the pair of them. Â
It had been three weeks of this, the silences, the uncomfortable pauses, the avoiding each other at all costs. The only time they ever really spoke was on a case, when they were closing in on an UnSub and their feelings had to be put to one side for the moment. Well, her feelings. Because all of his feelings were occupied as of the moment. With Maeve.Â
She couldnât stomach talking about the woman anymore, couldnât stand Derekâs teasing remarks about how lover boy was getting lucky, or Penelopeâs thousands and one questions about the geneticist that she knew had come from a place of care, or Alexâs motherly guidance on his love life. The entire thing made her feel queasy, and she stayed quiet most days in the way heâd always hated, the way heâd always tried to pry her out of.Â
But nowadays he didnât bother. Didnât bother much with her at all, really.Â
âYep,â Bugsy said, her lips tight, âPeachy,âÂ
JJ knew not to ask any more than that.Â
â
Human marionettes were a first for her, she had to admit. They had already found two victims stuffed into boxes with craft paper surrounding them, their limbs almost entirely broken out of their sockets ante-mortem. It was a time sensitive case, with two deaths in three days and no sign of slowing down, and so that meant that of course the two brains of the team were assigned together, even if Hotch saw the way her face dropped when heâd said it.Â
She was drawing the geographical profile on the board, the squeaking of the marker against the screen the only sound in the room aside from Spencerâs flicking of pages.Â
âDid you get the first dump site?â He asked, even though he knew she more than likely would have done.Â
âMhm,â She said, not bothering to actually say anything, because it was a stupid question she knew he was only asking to fill the awkward silence between them.Â
âWhat about the store that sold the outfits, did you get-â He started, only for her to cut him off with a clipped tone.Â
âGot it, and I got the radius around the store, and I got the second dumpsite.â Bugsy replied, capping the lid to the marker pen and setting it down on the desk beside him, âIâm going to get coffee. Want one?âÂ
Though she didnât stick around long enough to really hear his response. She simply waltzed out of the room to the tiny kitchenette the police station had to offer, in search of anything that would keep her occupied and away from snapping at him.Â
What had she really got to be mad at him for? For getting a girlfriend? For rubbing it in everyone's face how happy she made him, how perfectly suited she was for him? Except she didnât think that last one was necessarily true, it just felt that way because it cut her so deep to hear about the girl who was everything she wanted to be. She had no right to be mad at him for anything except being distant with her since she got back from London.Â
She still made him a coffee half heartedly, swirling in a tonne of sugar the way she knew he would like, because he never changed being so perfectly him in the time she was away.Â
She used to tell him he didnât need all that sugar because he was sweet enough as he was, because it was true. He used to be entirely honeyed and saccharine when he spoke to her, now she was lucky if she got a full good morning.Â
Bugsy bit her lip to stop it from quivering, and took the mugs back to the tiny office they were stationed in, seeing Alex at the door and hearing half their conversation.
âIs this about, uh, phone booth girl?â Blake asked, and Bugsy wanted to snap because what else would they be talking about. Her name was Maeve, she wanted to snarl, Maeve, Maeve, Maeve, Queen of the Fairies and of Spencerâs heart, Maeve, Maeve, Maeve.Â
She never hated a name so viscerally, though she knew in deep down it wasnât her fault. Maeve didnât do anything wrong, she just fell in love with Dr Spencer Reid and his charms. She couldnât blame her, really. It wasnât difficult to do so.Â
âShe wants to meet,â Spencerâs voice was soft and nervous, and it was the most sheâd heard him talk all day.Â
Bugsy froze, and Alexâs jaw dropped, âWait, you guys have never met?â She saw Spencer shake his head just before she rounded the corner back into the office, feeling like she was intruding immediately, âArenât you curious what she looks like?â
âOh, it doesnât matter what she looks like, sheâs already the most beautiful girl in the world to me,â She stopped at the doorway, feeling like sheâd had the entire cup of hot coffee dumped over her chest in a scalding pain the minute sheâd heard it.Â
Spencer called her beautiful many, many times before, both when sheâd been done up to the nines and even when she was running away from a damn wedding in the middle of a storm and she looked like a sewer rat.Â
But that didnât matter, because everything about Maeve was beautiful to him, and that was where she seemed to draw the short straw. Because who would find her selfishness beautiful? Or her spoiled nature, or how she could be so crass and rude she had been in more fights before she started the BAU than sheâd care to admit. But Maeve was nothing like that. She was sweet and gentle and beautiful on the inside.Â
Bugsy plonked his coffee down harder than sheâd wanted to, and he thanked her, pausing for a second as he looked between Alex and Bugsy, the second woman now sipping her steaming coffee freely and pinning maps to an adjacent board as if she couldnât hear a word they were saying.
âWhat if she doesnât like me?â He said, fiddling with his sleeves, âI mean; I slouch, my hairâs too long, my tie is perpetually crooked,âÂ
âYour hairâs fine,â Alex combats back, watching the girl down her drink in a few sips, âJesus, do you have asbestos in your throat?âÂ
Bugsy turned to her and shrugged silently, âIâm tired, I needed the caffeine,âÂ
Alex watched her with a hesitant eye, as if she was keeping just as close an eye on her as Jennifer but didnât want to say, before she stepped away from the doorway, âAlright, I gotta run. You kids update us if you find something out.âÂ
And with that Blake took her leave, leaving the room in silence for a moment, and Bugsy heard Spencer thinking too loud with that big brain of his.Â
She sighed, tacking a map of the city up next to the other one with points of interest noted on, âYouâll be fine,â She said after a minute, and he froze.Â
âIâm sorry?â He asked, formally like she asked to sit next to him on the bus or to squeeze past him in a store.Â
âI said youâll be just fine on your date with Maeve,â She reiterated, using a purple sharpie to start drawing the routes the victims took to work.Â
Spencer sighed, shuffling papers around his desk, âHow can you be so sure?âÂ
She looked at him then, properly looked at him and he felt his breath almost catch. Heâd been telling another one of his half truthâs earlier, because he couldnât very well say just how many nightâs heâd thought about Bugsy being all over him, about kissing her and sweeping her off her feet, about squeezing her close to him in a passionate embrace and never letting her slip away again. He thought about all the times she professed how much she loved him and how good a friend he was to her, and how happy she made him, and how he had spent the first year of knowing her getting to know her for that big brain of hers that rivalled his own.Â
He wanted her more than heâd ever wanted anything, but he couldnât have her. He could have Maeve though. He could meet her and fall in love with her and marry her. He could do it. But she still wouldnât be her.Â
She smiled at him like she had a secret, one she was willing to share with him, one that came at a cost but she would give it to him anyway because it was him and she was so good to him and deserved so much better.Â
âWhatâs not to like about you, Spencer?â She said softly, her expression that of a street dog looking for scraps.
He swore he shuddered when she said his name like that, but he tried a smile back at her anyway. But it was too late, sheâd already turned away to continue plotting the points on the map.Â
Spencer felt his chest swell in a way Maeve had never gotten it to do.
â
He felt stupid. Half an hour of primping himself in the BAU bathroom, worrying and fussing over what he was wearing and if his hair sat right and if his face looked too skinny, he had made it to the restaurant only to baulk at the last minute when heâd seen a guy in a booth flicking his head to look back at where he was sat in a window seat, a red rose potted in the middle of the table and an empty chair across from him.Â
He had panicked and called Maeve, told her to go home because her stalker was there at the restaurant, and she had done just that with little to no question. Only for him to see, minutes later, the guy he thought was her stalker being approached by another guy and he realised he had likely been looking out the window to check for taxiâs parking outside the restaurant.Â
Spencer had blown it, the one chance he had at meeting her in person, and he felt more like an idiot than ever.Â
He didnât care about the weird rift between them at that moment, he just wanted to see Bugsy, because she always seemed to know what to say to make him feel better. Like she had a talent for it, even when he had not been the best friend himself.Â
He knew he had to fix it, knew it didnât matter if it was a little unethical to be on the cusp of having a girlfriend whilst also pining after his best friend, he didnât care. He wanted to set things right with her just to have his best friend back.Â
He walked up to her apartment complex, the excuse already brewing in his head that he missed Nico and Sergio, that he maybe missed her a whole lot too but he knew the cats were a sweetened deal way of getting him through the door. Because she would never say no to him seeing the boys.Â
And then he would tell her, that heâd been an asshole the past few weeks, that heâd been struggling to understand how to balance time between her and his almost girlfriend, because that was a much better half truth than the fact he was trying to bury his feelings for her so deep they couldnât see the light of day or else his life would be entirely ruined.Â
Thatâs exactly what he would say.
Spencer felt a little better than he had leaving the restaurant knowing heâd messed up his chance. In all honesty, he was excited to have Bugsy back, even if his night wasnât exactly going to plan.Â
He waltzed up the stairs heâd been on a million times. She loved his apartment, she always said so, but he insisted her TV was bigger and so they usually stayed at hers to watch Dr Who when the newest episodes came out.Â
Spencer hesitated for a second, hoping his plan worked before he rapped on the door with boney knuckles, his hand fingering the strap of his bag nervously as he heard her moving behind the door.Â
âOne second!â She called, and he chuckled, she had probably falled asleep on the sofa without pants on, or maybe even just gotten out the shower, either way he heard her scrambling to get clothes on and then-
She swung the door open, and his eyes quickly dropped to her neck that had a long row of hickeys trailing down to her collar bone. His small smile at seeing her vanished like one of those magic tricks he liked to do, and he realised her lip gloss was smudged over her chin, her shirt definitely wasnât her own and he didnât actually think she had even bothered to put on underwear beneath the large band tee sheâd clearly thrown on in the middle of passion.Â
Bugsy looked like sheâd seen a ghost.Â
âSpencer!â She said, her voice choked up like she was exhausted, and he felt his stomach turn. He looked away from her, like he couldnât stand to even look at her, âI thought you were with Maeve- yo-your date,â
âI had to cancel, it wasnât safe,â He murmured, tugging the strap of the bag tighter around his shoulder.Â
He felt like a complete loser. More than he ever had being shoved into lockers, being dipped into toilet water, being led around by the librarian and her damn butterscotch.Â
Spencer felt like his chest was caving in, which he knew was fair on no one to admit, but it was true.Â
âAre you okay?â She asked immediately, scanning him over for wounds, âAre you hurt- Is Maeve okay?â
He opened his mouth to reply when he heard foot steps and a hand appeared around her waist, tugging her into a muscled body as the door opened wider.Â
âWho is it, babe?â A deep voice spoke, and Spencer felt his face go green when he saw the adonis of a man who stood behind her, his chest littered with smudged lip gloss and bruises resembling her own neck trailing down to his crotch.Â
Her face was on fire when Spencer looked back at her, something betrayed in the hazel of his eyes which he knew was entirely illicit to feel in the circumstances, but it was true.Â
âFuck off, Renly,â She shoved him back behind the door, looking at Spencer like the friendship between them they were scrambling to salvage hung in the balance with whatever she said next. âYou remember Renly, my lab partner at Johns,âÂ
Spencer nodded, the image of her lips on his pubic bone wouldnât leave his mind, and he wondered what came after that, âI remember him,âÂ
She nodded back, and they went silent.Â
Theyâd found themselves back at that stalemate.Â
--
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strange perfections
in which spencer reid and fem!reader meet by accident at a coffee shop. and then they keep meeting there. they've really got to stop meeting like this. (no, seriously. hotch is pissed.) / do you believe me now? bonus chapter!
fluff!
warnings/tags: meet cute:) some dark humor, romantically inexperienced reader, spencer reid graduated from caltech, mit, and the derek morgan school of rizz
a/n: this can absolutely be read as a standalone BUT it was written as a prologue for my series do you believe me now? to explain how spencer and r met! completely optional, if you're only here for the smut no worries! reading this bonus chapter might make the next chapter better though as it contains discussions of how they met:) anyway, I LOVE YOU!! let me know if you like this silly little random thing! kisses
The cafĂ© door opens again. A blustery wind raises goosebumps on your arms and makes your bones ache again. You look up at the latest intruderâa hobbling elderly man in a newsboy cap and a knit red scarf.Â
Stupid scarf, you think.Â
Stupid door.Â
Stupid wind.Â
Your mug is empty, and the table youâre sitting at is sort of sticky and rickety, and there are so many papers in front of you that you wonder why the hell you thought itâd be a good idea to print the PDF out and annotate it that way instead of just doing it on your laptop like a normal person in the 21st century. Nothing is going right today. Itâs the third cafĂ© youâve tried in the past few weeks as you attempt to find some place that feels homey, lucky, but this one just feelsâŠÂ inconvenient.Â
You look at the stack of papers and sigh.Â
Stupid Lord Byron.Â
Stupid cafe.Â
Usually, cafĂ©s are relatively quiet and peacefulâa refuge for the overworked to bask in the luxury of quiet jazz and the smell of dark roast as they continue to overwork themselves. This particular establishment, however, today hosts a group of teenagersâpresumably playing hookyâwho have commandeered a big booth in the back and keep walking right past your table because apparently they couldnât have just ordered their drinks at once and they all have to do it separately and loudly.Â
One of them has an incredibly irritating, gratingly pubescent laugh, and they think everything is hilarious. This whole situation is unbearable.Â
Just as youâre gearing up to go, of course the fucking door opens again. This time, itâs accompanied by a particularly strong gust.Â
Strong enough that Lord Byron doesnât stand a chance.Â
Your printed copy of his works blows off the table, at first page by painstakingly annotated page and then before you can even process it, all at once.Â
Yeah. This is definitely not your lucky cafĂ©.Â
As you curse and go to stand up, you run into one of those dumb kids. His huge ceramic mug goes flying, careening against the edge of your table and completely splattering you and all your stuff in 16 liquid ounces of scalding espresso and milk.Â
Itâs silent for a second, save for a few drips from the puddle on your table to the floor, before the kid is apologizing profusely and turning red as a tomato. You canât even respondâyou look down at your ruined favorite sweater, and then around at the pages of Byron littered with color-coded sticky notes, overflowing with angry and purposeful red ink that you spent so much time on, scattered all over the floor.Â
Eventually the boy catches on that youâre not going to forgive him and he skitters away, back to his friends, who whisper and giggle profusely. Only a few of them get up to start gathering the fallen pages with you. Several other patrons end up helping as well, so the sheets of paper are gathered and returned into your sticky hands fairly quickly. You thank each person without looking up as they hand you their respective stack. All you want is to get out of here.Â
âHereâIâm really sorry about this,â someone saysâa tenor-ish male voice, distinctly sympathetic as he holds out a rather larger stack of papers than anyone else had bothered to pick up.Â
âIâll live,â you sigh, straightening up. âBut thankâŠÂ you.â
The man standing in front of you is the kind of man who makes you want to untuck your hair from its usual spot behind your ears, and to stand up straighter, and to try and not stare even though you want his attention. Heâs gloriously beautiful in a way that repels and attracts you. Heâs the type of man who wouldnât have given you the time of day in high school and probably wouldnât now. Instantly you feel both insecure and reduced to a former version of you who would simper and fawn over boys who wanted nothing to do with her. You feel like going to the other side of the cafĂ© and sitting in the best light and staring out the window poetically and hoping heâs looking at you.Â
âOn the one hand, I feel bad for being the person who opened the door and let the wind in. On the other⊠I feel compelled to say at least theyâre not covered in coffee like the rest of your table is?â
You laugh vacantly, a second too late, positively coveting the awkward smile on his angular face. Then you make eye contact, and his eyes are so the opposite of angularâtheyâre huge and inviting and the warmest golden-brown youâve ever seen, and theyâre looking right back at youâand you have to look down. Fuck. You hate when you do that.Â
Think of something normal to say!
âYeah, true. Now I just have to reorder 264 pages. That⊠that donât have page numbers.â
You shuffle through the papers. They are hopelessly scrambled. Your heart sinks just a bit.
âUm⊠I might actually be able to help with that, if you want?â
You frown, glancing up. What kind of sex trafficking ploy is this?
âThatâs okay. Might be easier with just one person.â
He laughsâitâs similarly awkward, similarly endearing.Â
âDo you mind letting me just⊠try? Itâll only take a minute.â
Only take a minute? Is this beautiful man deranged? Why are the hot ones always crazy?
But, perhaps because youâre a pushover who canât stand up to people, much less beautiful people, much less beautiful men who are paying you undue attention, you find yourself giving in. You hold the stack out.Â
âSure. Give it your best shot. Iâll be impressed if you can even figure out what page one is.â
Heâs already flipping through the papers with a drawn brow, walking away with them, and barely looking over his shoulder as he mutters, âI have Byron memorized. It shouldnât be too difficult.â
You follow him, because hello, he has all your annotations. Heâs definitely insane, you think, as he sits down at a table and starts rapidly sorting the sheets into separate piles.Â
All you can do is stand awkwardly behind him as he stacks papers seemingly at random, barely glancing at them before deciding where they go.Â
Maybe a minute, maybe a few go by, each of which have you progressively more flabbergasted, before heâs tapping the edges of a stack of paper on the table and standing, handing them to you with his lips pressed into a thin pleasant line. Thereâs almost a glow about himâlike he couldnât be more in his comfort zone.Â
âThere you go. Should be in order now.â You sport a frown bordering on a grimace as you take the stack and flip through it a bit. Sure enough, it seems that everything is in order. You keep looking between the man in front of you and the papers, incredulous as you wait for something to be in the wrong spot.Â
âHow did you do that?âÂ
His cheeks turn slightly pink.Â
âI know Byron really well. I know how each passage ends and begins so I put them together like puzzle pieces.â
âHow did you read that fast?â
âUh. Iâm a speed-reader?â
You scoff, taking another look through the stack.Â
âI think that may be underselling it.â A thought occurs to you as youâre grazing over one of your longer annotationsâfull of expletives and strong opinions. âOh, god. You didnât⊠you didnât read my notes?â
The manâs eyebrows raise as if he was waiting for you to mention that and he smiles like he doesnât quite know how to break it to you gently.Â
âMaybe a few,â he eventually decides, laughing under his breath. âI appreciated the commentary on his relationship with Augusta. It was⊠colorful.â
Heat rises in your cheeks as you mumble.Â
âYeah, I had a hard time appreciating the romantic poems. Theyâre less cute when thereâs like a fifty percent chance heâs writing about his sister.â
âHalf sister,â he corrects. You give him a look.Â
âDoes that make it better?â
â⊠no,â he realizes. âNot even a little bit.â
You laugh, relieved that his face looks as warm as yours feels.Â
âWell⊠thank you, for the help,â you say after a silent second.Â
âOf course. Sorry, again. I, umâI hope your day gets better?â
âYeah, well. I feel like statistically it has to, right? Itâs kind of a low bar.â
He smiles, a perfect, perfect smile, and gives you a little wave as he leaves. Without coffee. Checking the clock on the wall, you realize itâs approaching one in the afternoon. If heâd been here on his lunch break, he sacrificed it to organize your stupid Byron texts. You smile to yourself.Â
He was totally in love with me.Â
And he canât prove me wrong because Iâll probably never see him again.Â
All things consideredâthis coffee shop does seem pretty lucky. Maybe youâll stick with it for a while.Â
The next time you see the mysterious sexy speed reader is four days laterâthough youâve been here every day since. He catches your eye right as he walks in, and his brows jump in pleasant recognition. You smile. He smiles back, before going up to the counter and ordering a coffee with a ludicrous amount of sugar in it.Â
I should take note for when I make him his coffee in the mornings, you think to yourself, and then you snort at your own delusions, shaking your head at your book. Obviously youâre not that divorced from reality, but youâll entertain the fantasy forever until one of you stops showing up to this cafĂ©.Â
What youâre absolutely not expecting is for him to walk up to your table with his to-go cup.Â
âHi,â he says.Â
âHi!â
Jesus! Tone it down, girl scout.Â
He gestures to your stack of papers: now secured in a three ring binder. The cup says Spencer.Â
Spencer. Spencer.Â
It feels important.Â
âI see youâve upgraded.â
âYes! Yes, I did,â you laugh self-consciously, still struggling to meet his eyes. âThank you for the help the other day. I would still be sorting through all of this if it werenât for that, so⊠yeah. Thanks.â
âOf course! Iâm glad I could be of use.â
âSpence!â Someone calls from the cafe door. You both look up to see a stunning blonde beckoning him away.Â
Ah. Naturally. The girlfriend who is one trillion times prettier than you.Â
Spence.Â
Reality sets in.Â
âComing!â He replies, with all the eager compliance of a child, before turning back to you. âUm⊠well⊠Iâll see you?â
Itâs an awkward way to say goodbye to a stranger, but you suddenly donât care enough to dwell. Instead you nod once, less enthusiastic now that you know he has a 10 waiting for him on the sidewalk.Â
âI am a creature of habit.â
Another wave as he walks away.Â
The two disappear from the doorway, but the perpetual breeze seems to carry a snatched bit of conversation your way.Â
âWho was that?âÂ
âUh⊠I donât actually know.â
Yeah. Reality definitely sets in.Â
Over the next few days, you break your cafĂ© streak. Life is busy. Thereâs not always time to artfully ponder Romantic poetry and drink a six dollar coffee while waiting around for certain people to show up.Â
Okay, so⊠maybe it has more to do with him than youâre letting on. But youâre not going to do that thing you do again, where you become limerently obsessed with a man you donât know and who is way out of your league just because you canât form an actual attachment to anyone to save your life. Besides, you remind yourself; we probably wouldnât be compatible anyway. Heâs probably a huge loser. Or secretly a douche. Or chews with his mouth open. Obviously nobody that attractive can also have a good personality.Â
Not to mention he has a girlfriend. That should put you off, too.
But you hadnât been lying when youâd proclaimed to be a creature of habitâyou return to the cafĂ© once you feel sufficiently detached from this Spencer character.Â
Heâs there. Of course heâs there. Why had you been expecting for him to not be there? Itâs not like he was a figment of your imagination.Â
This time heâs accompanied by a different blonde womanâa bespectacled blonde with a big floral headband and a patterned dress and a red cardigan and tights and heels that look self-injurious. Sheâs quite eye-catching; you want to keep looking at her, but you seem to draw her attention, too. Her big eyes widen minutely and briefly you wonder if youâre supposed to know her, but certainly youâd remember meeting a person like that. She doesnât seem easily forgettable. Both of you look to Spencer at the same time, whoâs looking between you with an almost panicked expression.Â
âOh! Thââ the woman whispers, cutting herself off when she realizes how loud sheâs being in the otherwise silent establishment. âAh! Okay, right. Never mind.â
 Spencer sighs. You want to laugh, but youâre baffled by the whole thing. So you go back to reading.Â
Ten minutes later, they draw your attention once more.Â
âGo, go ahead! Itâs more problematic for you to be late than me. Iâll be like, thirty seconds tops.â
You donât look up as Spencer leaves the cafĂ©âbut are you supposed to gather that these two eccentric individuals are coworkers? And what of the first blonde woman, who youâd presumed to be his girlfriend? Where is she?
While youâre wondering all of this, the new blonde teeters her way over to your table.Â
âHi!â She says pleasantly, waving a purple-tipped hand and wearing the biggest grin.Â
âUh⊠hi?â
âIâm Penelope. Youâve met my friend Spencer. He just left.â
âOhâsort of,â you smile weakly, closing your book. âNot formally. I didnât know his name.â
Thatâs a lie, but maybe feigning non-chalance will make it real.Â
âWell, I just wanted to come over and say I love your bag. And your jewelry and your coat. I love your whole look. I bet youâre a really cool person.â
âUmâthank you!â You perk up, smiling genuinely now. The compliment warms youâyou didnât think your look was all that interesting today. âYou too. I love your outfit.â
âGreat! Youâreâyouâre great. This is good information. Um⊠just out of, like, sheer curiosity, could I get your name, age, and occupation? Ohâand your zodiac sign?â
What kind of convoluted sex trafficking ployâ
âGarcia!â
Spencer is at the doorway again, looking adorably miffed.Â
Adorable? Get a grip.Â
âWhâIâm just making a new friend! Is friendship illegal, now?â
âThis is the kind of friend-making that gets you a restraining order,â he urges.Â
You look up at Penelope Garcia, enamored by their whole dynamic. They clearly care for each other, despite the squabbling. What kind of job do they have where they talk to each other like this?
âItâs fine,â you smile, introducing yourself to her.
âThat is such a good name!â She says, and youâre getting the sense sheâs kind of always this enthusiastic. âSo now we know each otherâs namesâwe should probably definitely be friends, right?â
âYeah! Um, definitely!â
âYes? Oh my god! I love this! Okay, umâwe work at Quantico, so, weâre like, 10 minutes awayâbut this is better than the coffee shop thatâs closest to the building, so we come here all the time. Usually itâs just us and five grouchy old men, which makes this is really exciting.â
âQuantico⊠thatâs the FBI academy, right?â
âOther stuff, too,â she nods, still smiley.Â
Oh! Cool. So theyâre FBI agents.Â
So thatâs cool.Â
Youâre cool with that.Â
Her phone starts ringingâshe locks eyes with Spencer.Â
âHotch?â
âOoh, we are in trouble,â Penelope sing-songs, leaning down to write her number on your notebook without asking. Not that you mind, of course. She adds a little heart and a smiley face next to her name before capping your pen and toddling away. âBye, new friend!â She calls over her shoulder, waving goodbye with just her fingers.Â
âBye,â you manage, though itâs probably too quiet.Â
Spencer flattens his mouth into an approximation of a smile and waves again.Â
You accidentally find yourself mirroring his goodbye, facial expression and all. Fuck. You hope he doesnât notice. You hope he doesnât read into it.Â
Nah. Boys are dumb.Â
You text Penelope later that afternoonâa simple greeting so that she can save your numberâand then you forget about it.Â
Itâs not until five days go by without sign of any of themâthe two blondes, Spencer, this mysterious and foreboding Hotch figureâthat you start to seriously question your sanity. Did they drop off the face of the planet, or what?
But of course, just as youâre sitting at your usual table, Spencer walks in. Alone.Â
He sees you immediately, but instead of the wave youâd come to expect, he immediately flushes, looks down at his shoes and hurries into the small lunch-rush line.Â
Weird.
You corner him at the coffee bar, where heâs adding more sugar to his coffee. How are his teeth so nice if he does this to himself every single day?
âHey,â you say, affecting casual confidence as you bus your empty mug. â⊠Spencer, right?â
Itâs comical how youâre pretending you havenât turned that name over and looked at it from every angle hundreds of times since the first time you heard it.Â
He nods, only glancing up at you as he stirs. To your surprise, he knows your name, too. When you give him an odd look, he smiles almost apologetically, finally looking at your face for longer than half a second.Â
âI heard you introducing yourself to Penelope. Sorry if thatâsâŠâ
âNo, no! Is she around, today? I texted her last week, but she never responded...â
âToday is operating system update day, so I donât even really have a way of knowing if sheâs alive in her office.â Itâs funny to him, but you just smile, baffled. He notices your silence and catches on, scrambling to explain himself. âSheâs our tech analyst. There are 243 computers in our building and she has to update them all remotely, which requires getting every agent to agree to not touch their computer at the same time for an hour or so.â
âOh⊠does the FBI not have, like⊠an IT guy, or something?â
He laughs againâthe way his eyes crinkle when he does it makes you a little breathless.Â
âYou should say that to her. I think you would become her favorite person.â
Itâs hard not to smile when heâs smiling because of youâhowever indirectly that may be. Quickly you realize youâve both been standing in front of the coffee bar for too long.Â
âAlright, well⊠tell her good luck, for me?â
âI would, but Iâve been kicked out for an hour while she does the updates.â
Your brow furrows and you laugh.Â
âFrom the whole building? You just canât keep your hands off your computer for an hour?â
âNot if I want to do my job, no. And I am kind of obsessive about my job. Iâve been the reason she had to start the whole process over again before and Iâd rather not be that person again.â
You say it before you can think too hard.Â
âWell, if you have an hour to kill⊠thereâs an open seat at my table? No pressure, obviously.â
And that was the first of thousands of hours you would come to spend with Spencer Reid.Â
After that, it sort of becomes a regular thing. He comes almost every dayâexcept for occasional week or so long stretches, which you have discovered are a part of his absolutely fucking insane jobâand sits with you, sometimes with Penelope, once with the other blonde, JJ, who youâve since deduced is not his girlfriend, most often alone. Usually he canât spare more than ten minutes, but he begins pushing it, little by little, until thirty minutes go by and you think surely his boss (the great and all-powerful Hotchner) must be beginning to notice.Â
One day, during your usual lunchtime rendezvous, his phone rings. He talks right on through it, like itâs not happening.
It ceases. And then it starts again.Â
Your head drops to your shoulder, something like pity or regret softening your features. He catches your eye and melts slightly, mid-sentenceâlike he knows youâre about to tell him to be responsible.Â
âDo you think you shouldâŠâ
His hands drop from where theyâd been enthusiastically positioned mid-air.Â
âTheyâll be fine if Iâm late from lunch one time. Iâm usually more punctual than any of them.â
You roll your lip between your teethâitâs not that you want to tell him to go; in fact, those delusions youâve been harboring about your future life together are only getting worse with each inexplicable minute he entertains your company.Â
But his job is important.Â
âWhat if you have a case?â
âThen I would have gotten more calls from more people by now.â
Your head tips back as you laugh lightly at his unwavering insistence. Â
âIâm flattered that you so enjoy my company that much. But I canât with good conscience keep taking up your work hours like this.â
As the laughter fades, he justâŠÂ watches you, lips slightly parted, eyes intense but not entirely present.Â
âYouâre probably right,â he finally breathes. âMaybe⊠you should start taking up my other hours, instead?â
Spencer Reid, you unexpected charmer.Â
You balk.
âLike⊠we would hang out? At a different time of day? Not here?â
âThose are the basic premises, yes,â he chuckles, nodding affably. âIâve never actually seen you anywhere else. For all I know you could be a ghost eternally tethered to this building.â
âWhere would this hanging out take place?â
Fuck, youâre totally being weird. His brow knits.Â
âI donât know. Where else do people hang out?â
Heâs not genuinely asking you, heâs gently turning you in the right direction. You charge forward blindly.Â
âRestaurants.â
Thereâs that pretty smile of his again, the one that makes all the thoughts drain from your head like cold bathwater. Though, thereâs a sort of mischievous edge to it now that you haven't seen before.
âThatâs certainly an option. If I asked you to hang out with me at a restaurant... would you say yes?â
You look down. God, your face feels warm.Â
âWould you be asking me out on a date? In this hypothetical scenario that weâve constructed, I mean.â
Spencer seems to think about it for a moment, which fills you with unexpected panic. When you look back up anxiously, he has the same smile on his face, but his eyes are a little softer now.Â
âI would.âÂ
More panic sets inâjust a bit. But you donât let what is undoubtedly a tidal wave of anxiety break through the emotional guard-dam. Keep it together. This is a good thing. This is what you wanted.Â
Unfortunately, you are perhaps more transparent than youâd realized. Spencer begins to look slightly worried, leaning forward in his chair.Â
âYou donât have to say yes. I know we donât know each other very well, I justââ
âNo!â You find yourself assuring him, though you curse yourself because you kind of want to know what he was going to say. âI would say yes. Iâve just, umâgod,â you laugh gustily, self-consciously. âSorry Iâm being so weird. Iâm out of my depth. Nobodyâs asked me on a date before. I donât really know the etiquette.â
Spencer chuckles.Â
âYouâre doing great. Donât worry about it.â
Not, what?
Not, youâve never been on a date before?
Not, thatâs crazy, or thatâs weird, or how have you gone your whole life without being asked out?
With the implication being, youâre odd. Different. Maybe not in a good way.Â
He says none of that.Â
âBut I should probably actually ask you, huh?â His cheeks turn pink as his laughter is redirected inwards.Â
âSounds like a good first step.â
Spencer is still smiling as he says your name and it sounds so good from his mouth. It makes you sound so real.Â
âWill you go on a date with me?â
Butterflies in your stomach doesn't begin to brush what you're experiencingâyour entire abdominal cavity is like a Monarch sanctuary.
âIâd love to.â
He seems genuinely relieved as he beams, slumping back in his chair.Â
âOh, thank god. I was so nervous youâd say no. I never do that. Thank you for not saying no. Not that you couldnât have said noâit would have been completely fine and obviously within your rights toââ
His phone rings again. Both of you are relieved that he was interruptedâbut admittedly you thought his rambling was super cute.Â
âI shouldââ
âYou definitely need to go.â
âYeah,â he agrees with a still-breathless smile. âUmâwhatâs your number?â
You look around fruitlessly for pen and paper.Â
âI donâtââ
âJust tell me. Iâll remember.â
Heâs so weird.Â
A breeze hits your skin as he opens the door. Youâre already writing your wedding vows in the back of your mind as you watch him go.Â
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