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springtyme · 2 months ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐀𝐢𝐧'𝐭 𝐍𝐨 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 ♡

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑: 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐞 𝐀 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐎𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨

Spencer Reid x f!reader || Series masterlist || Series playlist

Previous chapter || Main masterlist || ao3 || Next chapter

summary: After having worked for the BAU for two years, you have seen and experienced a lot, but after a series of murders of young married couples, you’re asked to do something that you never had thought you would have to do; going undercover, as an expecting, married couple, with Spencer Reid.

word count: 3.6k

warnings/tags: Eventual smut! (18+, mdni!) Language. Angst and fluff. Slow burn. Mutual pining. Coworkers to lovers. Undercover as a married couple. Pretend pregnancy. Not set at a specific time, but definitely somewhere in the early seasons. Reader uses she/her pronouns. Mention of canon-typical violence.

You spend most of the afternoon after your fitting with one of the undercover specialists from headquarters. Together, you go over your cover story in close detail, discuss standard protocols for different scenarios, and talk about how to navigate potential complications with careful precision.

You are very grateful for the guidance and thorough preparation provided by the specialist, agent Nolan. She is a seasoned woman, around 60 years old if you had to guess, and she has been with the FBI for decades. You really like her, and find her expertise reassuring. It’s nice to have someone to rehearse with, someone who understands the importance of each detail and can help you refine your approach.

Spencer had not been present when you met up again with Hotch after your fitting, and you haven’t seen him since you left the conference room earlier. After wrapping up your session with the specialist, you gather your things and head toward the small lounge area near the briefing rooms, hoping to run into him. He had been upset earlier, and you can’t help but worry about how he’s processing everything.

You understand why he wouldn’t be enthusiastic about learning that you would stay home while he has to go to his fake university job, but it still seemed to weigh on him more than you expected. You want to assure him that you’re in this together and that you trust the plan, that he doesn’t have to feel guilt for leaving you alone on the case. He can be very hard on himself.

But you don’t succeed in finding him, he must still be with the undercover specialist assigned to him, so you go to Hotch’s office instead. Hotch looks up from a stack of files when you knock gently on his open door. He gives you a small, welcoming nod.

“Agent,” he says, setting down his pen. “Come in.”

You step inside, closing the door softly behind you. You hesitate for a second, gathering your thoughts before speaking.

“I finished with agent Nolan.”

Hotch nods attentively, giving you a reassuring glance. “Good. That’s important. Did everything go smoothly?”

You nod slightly, offering a small smile. “Yes, she was amazing, really helped me refine things. I feel much more prepared now.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear that. I want you to feel as ready and prepared as possible. Both of your safety is paramount. I promise I’ll make sure of it.”

“I know,” you say softly, your voice steady but earnest. “And I trust you, Hotch. I trust the team.” You pause, glancing down at your folder, the weight of everything you’ve learned today settling fully on your shoulders. “You spoke to Reid..? After I left earlier.”

“I did.”

You nod, taking a moment to choose your words carefully before continuing. You don’t want Hotch to think that you don’t trust Spencer or that you doubt his abilities and competencies, because you don’t. Quite the opposite, in fact. It turns out that you don’t need to voice your concern.

Hotch has leaned back in his chair, watching you carefully, sensing the internal debate playing across your face. His voice is steady, calm when he speaks again. “He feels responsible for your safety.”

You feel a warmth creep into your chest at Hotch’s words, a mix of emotions tightening in your throat — pride, affection, and something more complicated too: the deep understanding of how much pressure Spencer lets himself carry on his narrow shoulders.

“I know,” you murmur again. “I worry he’ll be blaming himself even before anything has happened.”

Hotch gives a small, knowing smile, the kind that says he’s seen it all before but still finds it quietly meaningful. “He cares about you,” he says simply. “Deeply. I think it’s hard for him to separate his personal feelings from the professional assignment right now, and honestly... I’m not sure he should.”

You blink, a little surprised by the candor. Hotch doesn’t usually wade into personal territory unless he feels it’s necessary.

“He’ll be alright,” Hotch assures you. “Sometimes caring about your partner — even more than yourself — makes you sharper. More aware. He won’t let anything happen to you. Neither will we.”

You feel your chest tighten a little, a rush of emotion surging through you. The trust you have in the team, in Hotch, and especially in Spencer, grounds you.

“Thank you,” you whisper, feeling the sincerity behind his words.

Hotch nods once. “Now go home and get some rest. You leave for California tomorrow morning. Wheels up at 09:00.”

“Right.” You say, offering him a grateful smile. “Goodnight, Hotch.”

“Goodnight, Agent,” he says, already reaching for another file as you quietly step out of his office, but you turn around to add, “I won’t let anything happen to him either, by the way.” Your voice is soft, but the earnestness behind it is unmistakable.

He looks up from his file, offering a small, reassuring smile. “Oh, I know.”

With that, you exit the office, the weight of the conversation settling a little more comfortably on your shoulders.

· · · · ·

The folder Hotch gave him earlier lies open on the desk in front of him. He has read through every single file in it multiple times—not that he really needed to, eidetic memory and all. Every word of it is etched into his brain, but he felt like he should; it seemed appropriate in some way, like it was the polite thing to do.

The fake life of a man he has to embody to perfection, neatly laid out in front of him: how he met his wife in college, how they built a future together, and was now moving cross-country to start anew, and start a family. It’s surreal.

Opposite Spencer sits Agent Johnson, his assigned undercover specialist. Johnson is a seasoned undercover operative, calm and methodical, with years of experience in deep cover assignments. The older agent’s dark eyes are quietly observing Spencer through the horn rimmed glasses that are slightly askew on his nose.

They have gone through everything multiple times, every imaginary scenario, rehearsed potential questions for just about any possible person he could encounter, and discussed how Spencer should respond in various situations. He should feel exhausted by now, but instead he just feels wired—too many thoughts running through his mind to allow for anything else.

Spencer has been nodding along to everything, trying to internalize every instruction, but he is feeling the weight of the operation is pressing down on him. Now, with the room quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioner, Spencer takes a deep breath, trying to steady his racing mind

Johnson finally leans forward slightly, his voice low and steady. “I must say agent Reid, I am very impressed by you. That eidetic memory of yours is going to serve the operation well. I’ve never seen someone prepare so fast.”

Spencer blinks, momentarily startled by the unexpected praise. He offers a small, almost shy smile, ducking his head slightly the way he always does when he’s embarrassed but pleased.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

Agent Johnson’s lips twitch in a ghost of a smile. “You’re ready, Reid. I really believe that you are. You know the cover backwards and forwards. You’ll be fine out there.” He pauses for a beat before adding, “But I’m not fully sure you believe that yourself.”

Spencer shifts uncomfortably in his chair, feeling the weight of Johnson’s words settle over him, slightly embarrassed that the seasoned agent seems to see right through him so easily. He nods slowly, eyes cast downward as he tries to mask the flicker of doubt that’s creeping in. Despite all the rehearsals, all the meticulous planning, a part of him still worries—what if he slips up? What if something unexpected happens?

“I don’t have any doubts about remembering the details,” Spencer finally says, voice quiet but firm. “My concern is if I’m able to act it out.”

Agent Johnson nods thoughtfully, leaning back slightly. “That’s a valid concern, and it’s good to acknowledge it.”Agent Johnson studies Spencer for a long moment before he speaks again, his tone still even but now laced with a bit more warmth. “Let me tell you something, Reid,” he begins, folding his hands on the table between them. “A good undercover operative memorizes the cover. A great one feels it. They don’t pretend to be someone else — they become them, not by forgetting who they are, but by using the parts of themselves that already fit the role.”

Spencer frowns slightly, processing what’s being said.

“You’re not pretending to care about someone,” Johnson continues, his gaze steady and kind. “You already do. You’re not pretending to be protective — you already are. The only thing that’s new is the backdrop. The rest? That’s all you. Just... let that show. Trust that it’s enough.”

Spencer swallows hard, his throat tight. He hadn’t expected the conversation to take that turn — and certainly hadn’t expected it to hit so close to home. But there it is, spoken aloud in the way that only someone who’s lived undercover long enough could vocalise.

It’s about letting the truth slip through the fiction.

He nods, more slowly this time. “I think… I needed to hear that.”

Johnson gives a short nod in return. “Good. Then I’ve done my job.”

Spencer finally looks up again, his expression a little clearer, the tension in his jaw starting to ease. The room falls into silence once more, but now it feels different, less heavy, more grounded. He knows tomorrow everything changes. But for now he is feeling a faint flicker of confidence rekindled within.

· · · · ·

You are back home earlier than you had feared. As you step into your quiet apartment, the familiar surroundings seem both comforting and stifling all at once. The silence is thick, the kind of silence that makes your mind race with everything you should be doing, everything that’s about to come.

You set your bag down carefully by the door, the soft click of the lock behind you sounding strangely final. In 24 hours you’ll have landed in California, and the operation will officially have begun.

You walk through your apartment slowly, almost absentmindedly touching the edges of things—bookshelves, picture frames, the corner of the kitchen counter—as if grounding yourself in the life you’re leaving behind, if only temporarily. You know this is part of the job. You’ve done difficult things before. But this assignment feels more personal, more intimate than any before.

You still need to pack your bags for the trip. You will have a wardrobe waiting for you in California, so it’s a relatively easy task. You decide to wait to do it until after dinner. You have to empty your fridge, resulting in some weird combination of leftovers on a plate that barely resembles a meal, but it’s food, and that’s enough for tonight. You eat standing at the counter, chewing slowly, barely tasting it as your mind stays fixed on what’s coming.

Once the plate is rinsed and placed in the sink, you find yourself standing still, your hands braced on the counter’s edge. You stare at nothing in particular, letting the weight of your thoughts settle. Eventually, you move to your bedroom. You pack methodically, like you’ve done a hundred times before. Your hands work from muscle memory.

The next morning comes faster than you expect. After a fitful night’s sleep, your alarm blares at 5:30 a.m., and you’re up, adrenaline already pumping through your veins. After a quick shower you pack the very last of your things, double-check your credentials, and head to Quantico.

The lobby is quiet when you arrive, the early morning stillness stretching across the floors and muted walls of the Bureau. You spot JJ and Derek already waiting near the elevators, a duffel bag at Derek’s side, sipping coffee as they exchange quiet conversation. They both greet you with soft nods and tired smiles, and you return them in kind, the familiar comfort of your team steadying your nerves.

“Morning,” Derek says, eyeing your bag as he takes a sip of his coffee. “You ready for the sunshine state?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you reply with a wry smile, adjusting your grip on your bag.

“Spencer’s upstairs already,” JJ adds gently. “Been there a while.”

Your heart tugs at that, wondering if he’d gotten any sleep at all last night. You offer a small nod and step into the elevator with them, the subtle vibrations beneath your feet as the doors close behind you, sealing you inside, the three of you riding up in thoughtful silence.

Hotch and Derek will be going to California with you, taking point on surveillance and coordination from a nearby command post. JJ and the rest of the team will remain in Quantico, at least for the first phase of the operation, supporting remotely and managing intel feeds until the field unit gives the all-clear to rotate personnel in.

The plan is tight, efficient, and thoroughly vetted — just like every other part of the Bureau’s playbook. But despite the structure, you can feel the underlying tension in everyone’s movements, in the way their eyes linger on you and Spencer a second longer than usual. This isn’t just a case. It’s personal now, in ways that transcend the paperwork.

When the elevator dings open, you step out onto the floor where the briefing rooms are. The hallway is quiet, bathed in the pale wash of early morning light bleeding through the windows. You let Derek and JJ step ahead of you, your feet automatically guiding you after them down the corridor toward the ready room.

The rest of the team is already sitting around the large table. Spencer sits the furthest away from the door. He looks up as you enter the room and you catch each other’s eyes across the room as you take a seat. Spencer offers a faint, reassuring smile, and you return it softly.

Hotch’s voice cuts through the quiet hum of anticipation as he begins to outline the plan for the coming days. It doesn’t take long. Soon you’re saying goodbye to the rest of the team, before heading to the plane with Derek. Spencer and Hotch have already gone ahead.

Your bag is thumping against your side as you walk through the building, the sound of yours and Derek’s footsteps echoing around you. Derek glances over at you, his expression serious but supportive. “You alright?” he asks.

You nod, taking a steadying breath. “Yeah. Just… shit’s getting real now, I guess.”

Derek gives a small, understanding smile. “Yeah, it is. But you know we’ve got your back. Just stay sharp, stay safe.” He gives your arm a friendly nudge, and you can’t help but let out a slight chuckle, feeling the reassurance in his words.

“Right. How can anyone worry with you as their backup?” you joke.

Derek chuckles softly, a warm smile crossing his face. “Exactly.”

You nudge him back, rolling your eyes with a now more heartfelt laugh. “Shut up, Morgan.”

“You say that too often, you know?”

“I say it an appropriate amount of times. You just always take it as an invitation to tease me more.”

You both share a brief, knowing smile as you approach the plane. Despite the gravity of what’s coming, it’s nice to be reminded of the camaraderie of your team and how much you rely on each other—not just professionally, but personally too.

Once you board the plane you spot Spencer, who’s already seated at the back, he is reviewing some notes, his brow slightly furrowed, but his posture more relaxed than earlier. You catch his eye and give a subtle, encouraging smile. He responds with a quick nod, and a smile like the one he gave you in the briefing room.

You leave Derek behind to speak with Hotch and make your way down the aisle to Spencer.

“Hey,” you say quietly. You haven’t spoken since the slight tense moment at yesterday’s meeting with Hotch, before you had to leave to get fitted.

“Hey,” Spencer replies softly. There’s a beat of silence between you, not uncomfortable, just weighted with everything unsaid and everything understood. Then Spencer breaks the silence. “I didn’t sleep much,” he admits, offering a sheepish sort of smile, closing his notebook and shifting slightly to make room for you beside him.

“I figured,” you say, taking a seat next to him. “I didn’t either.”

He glances at you. “It’s an almost six hour flight. You should try to get some sleep.” Spencer adds softly.

“Yeah, I’m just not sure I’ll be able to.”

“Hm,” he hums, “I get that.”

You nod, settling into your seat and pulling your jacket closer around you, settling in as the engines hum to life beneath you.

Another long stretch of silence unfolds between you as the familiar feeling of takeoff settles over you. The slight pitch forward, the vibration through the floor, it helps steady your nerves for some reason. You take a deep breath, grounding yourself. You notice how heavy your eyes feel, and suddenly you are no longer so sure that you won’t be able to fall asleep.

“Hey, Spence?” you say, your voice sounding low and wired.

“Yeah?” Spencer responds softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he glances over at you.

“Do you mind telling me something?”

“No, of course not,” Spencer replies gently, turning his full attention to you. His brow furrows slightly in curiosity and concern. “What is it about?”

You smile, feeling a bit silly. “I’m not sure. Maybe you will tell me a story, or teach me something, you are the smartest guy I know after all.” Maybe you are being a little bit selfish now, though you’re not lying. You could just really use a distraction, and you have always loved the way Spencer shares his knowledge, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. But you also think that he could use a distraction too.

“You want me to tell you a story?” he asks softly and surprised.

“Yeah,” you admit with a shy laugh.

He considers this for a moment, then nods. “Alright. Well, I have a story about the origin of the Fibonacci sequence and how it appears in nature— it’s pretty fascinating.”

You settle in, listening as Spencer begins, his voice calm and engaging. “The Fibonacci sequence is a series of numbers where each number is the sum of the two preceding ones: 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21... and so on. Interestingly, this pattern appears all over nature—in sunflower seed arrangements, pinecones, even in galaxies. The ratio between successive Fibonacci numbers approaches the golden ratio, which is approximately 1.618, a number that’s been associated with aesthetic beauty in art and architecture for thousands of years.”

You feel your eyelids growing heavier as he speaks, his voice weaving a calming rhythm. “That’s really cool,” you murmur.

Spencer smiles softly. “Yeah, it’s one of my favorite things to think about. Math isn’t just numbers—it’s a language that explains the universe. Sometimes, I think the universe is trying to tell us stories in patterns we’re only just beginning to understand.”

You nod, feeling a strange sense of comfort from his words and voice. “Thanks, Spence. I needed that.”

He glances at you with a gentle expression. “Anytime.”

The hum of the engines lulls you both into a quiet comfort.

“Are you excited about getting to teach engineering? Math is a big part of engineering, isn’t it? and patterns.”

“Yeah, I think I am,” Spencer replies softly. “Excited and nervous.”

“Mm,” you hum. “I understand that. But you are gonna do amazing I’m sure.”

Spencer looks at you, his brows slightly furrowed. “Thanks,” he says, his voice almost shy.

“Of course.” You offer him a sleepy smile, hesitating for a moment, gathering your thoughts. “Also… I know all of this is a lot. And I know you’re worried about me—about us. But I want you to know that I trust you. I trust that you’ll do everything you need to, to stay safe out there.”

Spencer’s eyes soften. “I know. I just… I hate the idea of anything happening to you. But I also know Hotch and the team have everything under control. I have to trust that.”

You lay a hand on his forearm and give it a gentle squeeze, feeling a little steadier. “We’re in this together, right? No matter what happens, we’ve got each other’s backs.”

He nods, a small, determined smile forming. “Right.”

“Wanna tell me another story?”

“Sure,” he says softly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “There’s a story about the Poincaré Conjecture — it’s one of the most famous problems in topology, and it took nearly a century to solve.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite the fatigue creeping in. “Go on.”

He begins, voice gentle and steady, “The Poincaré Conjecture was proposed by Henri Poincaré in 1904. It’s about understanding the shape of 3-dimensional spaces — specifically, whether a three-dimensional sphere is unique in its properties. Basically, Poincaré asked: if a space is simply connected — meaning any loop you draw can be shrunk to a point without leaving the space — is it necessarily a sphere?”

You try to listen, you really do. It’s fascinating, even though you’re not sure if you fully understand what he’s talking about. But you’re just so sleepy now. You lean into him slightly, feeling the subtle warmth of his presence, and let yourself close your eyes, focusing on the sound of his voice until you drift into a peaceful, dreamless sleep, comforted by the steady rhythm of his words and the gentle hum of the plane.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated :) let me know if you want to be tagged in the next chapter ♡ edit: I only add people to the tag list that engange with the fic, it's too much work otherwise ♡

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