YOU CAN HEAR IT IN THE SILENCE | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [9]
description: the TWO big steps you take together.
word count: 13.5k
trigger warnings: entire mr scratch episode including drugging and suic!de, gore, violence, blood, mention of Diana's schizophrenia, mention of hotch's upbringing
author's note: lets do this again UGH. also set throughout season 10 so even though it seems like a jump its been a whole year bcus I can't write about every day my babies spend together.
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‘Cause you can hear it in the silence, you can feel it on the way home, you can see it with the lights out,
You’re in love. True love,’
The one where you meet his mom. [you have the parenthood talk]
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, her thumbnail instinctively picking at the side of her forefinger as her eyes trailed over the dress in the mirror.
It was a little too chesty, were the sleeves too short? Would his mom not like that it was backless? Backless meant suggestive to some people. Would she hate her piercings? She could take out a couple of her earrings just for one day, cover the hole where her nose ring slipped in with foundation easily.
Smile, she needed to remember to smile, not that god awful resting bitch face that Elizabeth used to say looked like she’d sucked a lemon between her cheeks. Smile. No, not like that, that looks fake and awkward.
Was her make up too much? She would hate for Spencer’s mom to think she looked like a hooker. A cheap one at that.
She felt his hands on her shoulders before the throes of her vicious mind could nab her once more, and her eyes trailed behind her in the reflective, if not slightly fingerprinted, mirror.
“You’re thinking loud,” Spencer said as if it was a fact, though that tended to be the way with him, since he knew damn near everything there was to know. Especially about her. “Why are you so worried, it’s my mom. Besides, what’s not to like about you?”
She huffed, shaking her head even though she really tried her best to give him a smile, instead turning to look down at her hands with wincing, cynical twinge of her lips.
“Maybe my tattoos or my make up or my slutty dress or my piercings that make me look like I just raided Penelope’s collection of ‘goth chic jewellery’, her words not mine,” She said pessimistically. She didn’t want to dampen the mood, honestly she was looking forward to the woman who graced the world with Spencer Reid (she wondered if a handshake or a hug would be appropriate, she would ask Spence in the car she decided,) “People don’t tend to see me the way you do, honey, I can be blunt and rude and snappy and cold. And it’s your mom, she’s like the most important person in the world to you.”
“She’s joint first, actually” Spencer corrected, trying to lift her spirits even a little. He knew none of the things she was saying were necessarily true. He suspected that voice that had overcome her was not her own at all, more likely her own mother nagging into to her for years to sit up straighter, smile more, make an effort to network and socialise, or any other piece of shit observation about how she acted for Elizabeth to badger her about.
But then she smiled at him, her eyebrows drawn together a little like she guessed he was lying or perhaps sugarcoating things.
“You’re allowed to have her first, you know,” Bugsy reassured him, her eyes melty and soft as she looked at him and he nodded, wrapping his arms around her stomach, almost like he was trying to suck the negativity out of her whole body through diffusion of their skin alone. “She’s your mom,”
“I know,” Spencer said simply, their eyes never breaking the gaze at one another, and Bugsy felt herself warm inside when she saw just how besotted his forest hues were, “Please stop worrying, she’s going to love you,”
“You can’t know that for sure,” She pushed back, because when had she ever allowed herself to enjoy a good thing when she had it. She knew she was being somewhat of a Negative Nancy, and she didn’t mean to be, truly. But Diana Reid was possibly the most significant person in Spencer’s life, despite what he said. And Bugsy was… Bugsy. All teeth and chaos and bite and vicious tongue when she didn’t mean to be.
If Diana didn’t like her, she wasn’t quite sure she’d be able to look at Spencer again without blurting out the million ways she’d try to make it up to him.
“Oh, I do know for sure actually,” He said, spinning her around so he could see her first hand, not in a reflection or a mirror image, and she smiled despite herself, pressing into his lean body and taking a big whiff of his freshly washed clothes. It was the same detergent she used, the same one he’d always used, and yet it was so Spencer it made her skin crawl with what she thought felt like warm goosebumps.
“Oh yeah?” He nodded proudly, and she progressed to a grin, her chin leaning against his chest as she spoke, and he stroked her neatly braided hair away from her face to see her better, like he’d won the second he saw her smile properly, “How do you figure that one out, wonder boy?”
“I’ve mentioned you in almost every single letter I’ve written to her for three whole years. When she saw the photo of you I sent her, she asked if I’d cut you out of a vogue magazine,” Spencer said and she burst out laughing. He couldn’t say he blamed his mom, the photo he’d sent had been one of Bugsy’s best, but then he’d be willing to argue all of them were just as newsworthy as the last. And nothing compared to the real thing. “You make me happy, happier than I ever thought I was allowed to be. Believe me, I know she’ll love you, because I love you,”
Bugsy smushed her face into his sweater to hide her modesty, and she pressed a small, barely there kiss to where her lips met even if he wouldn’t feel it.
“Does my hair look okay?” She checked again, her voice muffled by his thick knitted clothes, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead, stroking a gentle hand down her spine.
“You look beautiful,” He said softly, pulling her away from his body and holding onto her right hand, “Give me a spin,”
He lifted her hand above her head, despite the fact she seemed reluctant and embarrassed, “Spence,”
“We’re not leaving until you give me a spin,” He teased, and his smile was infectious as she twirled around beneath his grasp, the long, floral, sundress fanning out around her knees, “And back again!”
“Spencer-” She said with a chuckle, but he seemed to ignore her, or judging by his smile that spread across his whole face he didn’t care.
“Sorry, it’s just the rules,” He said, though she was almost certain there wasn’t ever such a thing as a rulebook on how to make your girlfriend less of a whiny bitch.
He spun her back around, and by the time she whirled around to face him a second him, his arm dropped down to secure around her waist, yanking her towards him to press a scorching hot kiss to her lips.
She kissed him back, her tongue trailing against his lip and Spencer’s obscenely large hand released her waist, trailing up her sides to cup her cheeks. Spencer kissed her like she was sucking air right out his lungs, like he was receiving life saving medicine, like he was being graced by an angel, a non-believer, a man of science reaching out to the white gates of heaven as if they were about to disappear under his touch.
They parted with a small smack that reverberated in the bathroom, and Bugsy looked at him as if he’d infected her with a drug, because truthfully that was how his touch, his kiss, made her feel.
They settled in his car, a few soft and loving affections later, because she really did look beautiful and he could apologise for smudging her lipstick another time, and Spencer it was the first time in a long time that Spencer felt like his future was laid out in front of him.
–
She fretted some more in the lobby, the woman behind the desk at the sanitarium lighting up at the sight of Spencer walking towards her with a smile.
“Dr. Reid,” She enthused, noting the woman next to him that squoze a book to her chest tightly like she wasn't sure what her fingers might do if they were let loose, “She’s been so excited to see you, her doctors said she’s responding well to the new medication,”
“I heard, I’m glad to hear she’s feeling calmer,” He said, his eyes trailing past the brunette who tapped away at her keyboard idly, “Where is she?”
“She’s just in the sunroom. She’s been learning how to crochet, just like you said,” The receptionist smiled kindly at Bugsy, who looked all but terrified, though she hid it well through tight lips.
Spencer nodded, reaching up to put a hand between Bugsy’s shoulder’s to lead her through the lounge area where a few other residents watched a black and white movie.
“Are you sure my make up looks okay, my mascara hasn’t ran has it?” She whispered, because a few other people, some even her age, were sitting in comfy armchairs flicking through books.
Spencer smiled at her, because she was so cute when she was nervous, usually it was the other way around, “You look lovely, you always look lovely,”
“I believe that’s what’s called voter bias, Dr Reid,” She said, because jokes and wit always seemed to release the pressure on her head when she was stressed.
He chuckled, opening the door to a large room filled on all sides with windows, and the cosy heat hit her in the face, “Not if what I’ve said is a verifiable fact.”
“Who’s your secondary source, Dr?” She said, because they seemed to fall into a nerdy sort of teasing when they were like this. Facts and figures were predictable, getting your boyfriend’s mother to like you based entirely on your personality was not.
“My mom,” Spencer said, and her head whipped to his, ready to protest when he led her to the corner of the sunroom, where a woman sat with her ocean blue eyes screwed up in concentration where two blush pink hooks were crossing and bobbing between a cream thread of yarn, “Mom,”
Her eyes flew up from where she sat, immersed in the delicate movements. Spencer had said a few weeks ago her hands were becoming stiff on her new tablets, that the side effects were making her circulation poor and so Bugsy had been out to help him pick up a crochet kit from Walmart the very same day.
“Mom, this is Bugsy,” He said, and it was his turn to be almost shy as he gestured to the young woman. “The girl I was telling you about,”
Diana stopped for a moment, as if assessing the new face, the way her hair fell around her ears, and Bugsy clutched the hardback tighter to her chest, thinking that maybe she should have gone for something a little fancier than the small piece of twin that wrapped around the present. First time meeting his mom and this was the best you could do, really Bugsy? Where’s the flowers or even another ball of yarn to keep her occupied?
Bugsy swore her breath caught, her brows furrowing together worriedly as she went to hold a shaky hand out to Diana, but then second guessed herself when she wondered if the loathing of spreading germs was shared between Spencer and his mom. She’d forgotten to check when they were in the car- stupid- stupid girl.
“H-hello, Mrs Reid,” She said quietly, shakily, holding out the book to the woman. Diana Reid looked good for her age, considering Spencer had told her on numerous occasions that she struggled to pretty herself up the way she used to before her Schizophrenia had spiralled. But her hair was a warm blonde with only small traces of grey in it, short around her neck likely for practicality, and despite the fact her face seemed somewhat grumpy, though Bugsy would describe her as lost more than anything, she lit up like a damn firework on the fourth of July the second she saw her son.
“Spencer!” She exclaimed, holding a hand out for her son to take, which he did so without hesitation. Bugsy thought she might be going in for a hug, maybe that she’d missed the hint that Bugsy was trying to greet her, which the young girl didn’t mind one bit. She was well aware she was stepping on their time together, “Help me out of this chair, I left my glasses in my room, I want to see her,”
Bugsy felt heat rush to her cheeks as Diana all but threw her crochet set to the little table beside what seemed to be a lukewarm mug of coffee, and Spencer helped her out of the recliner, Bugsy holding out another hand in case she needed it. She was tall once she stood to full height, taller than Bugsy would have thought she would be, and hands were on her shoulders the second Diana had released her son.
“Oh, look at you!” Diana exclaimed, and Bugsy tried not to falter with embarrassment under her words. But his mother’s hands were soft, if not rough on the tips where she had spent her life flicking through pages on pages of literature, “I’ve always told Spence he was a looker but, my god, you’re a catch even for him,”
“Mom,” He said indignantly, but Bugsy chuckled through flaming cheeks. Diana waved him off in favour of smiling at the girl, and the second she met eyes with the woman who had raised Spencer Reid she saw where he got his good heart from.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs Reid,” She stumbled over her words, trying for a second time to give her the book, and Diana looked almost aghast that she had brought her a present, “Spencer said you’d finished all your books they let you keep here so I bought you one of my favourites-”
“How could I resist The Great Gatsby,” Diana said, running a polished thumb over the gold printed writing, a small smile playing at her lips, “I’ve been meaning to brush up on Fitzgerald,”
Spencer smiled at his mother, who seemed more full of life than she had in weeks, before she waved her hand in front of the two of them, and Bugsy wondered if she had done something wrong.
“And none of this Mrs Reid crap. You're not the IRS, Diana is just fine, honey,” She said, and Bugsy grinned, nodding in agreement with the older woman. “Mom is even better if you’re feeling brave,”
“O-okay, absolutely,” She said, smiling even wider when Spencer seemed almost aghast his mother was being so brazen. Though he needn’t be so prudent, Bugsy was certain she loved her already.
“And how is my big strong FBI agent?” Diana turned to her son finally and he shook his head, his eyes full of boyish affection for the women.
“There’s dozens of words I think would perfectly describe me yet ‘big and strong’ fall nowhere in that category, mom,” He said, smiling widely at his mother who rolled her eyes and nudged him with her shoulder. She seemed more like herself than she had in years, her eyes were clearer, her nerves weren’t shot like usual. She seemed like the mother from his best memories.
“Alright, how does ‘contumelious’ work out for you?” She cracked back, and he laughed, shaking his head and he caught the pure warm grin radiating from Bugsy’s direction at the two of them.
And Bugsy saw in the kind, devoted eyes that hid behind Diana’s fluffy white, blonde hair where Spencer got his gentle soul; as if no amount of medication or illness would ever make his mother let up on the tenderness she held for him. She felt it in the air alone, the way they fell into sync only blood could ever achieve, and for a flash of a thought, Bugsy wondered if Spencer would be so doting on their children.
And for the first time all day she didn’t need to second guess herself. She already knew the answer.
–
“And this was Spencer in the mathletes,” Bugsy’s hand flew to her mouth to suppress the ‘aww’ threatening to tumble from her lips, because she knew from the way his cheeks had turned a bright rouge that he was embarrassed and she hated to make him feel like she was finding humour in his shame.
It was easy to see which one was him from the offset. Three college boys who had probably spent the best part of their first years begging sorority girls to fuck them and eating funny brownies stood at the back, atleast in their late teens judging by their late-adolescene acne and braces. Yet there, standing in front of them dressed in a tweed sweater vest and pressed brown trousers as if he was a small grandpa, was a scrawny pole of a boy, peeking out from behind a sweeping fringe in need of a trim and a pair of bubble-like glasses.
He was smiling wide, holding some sort of trophy in between his slender, little fingers, and Bugsy could bet her entire savings that he had answered almost all of his team’s questions.
“Spence,” She murmured, taking the photo gently between her fingertips where she sat in between her partner and his mother at the foot of Diana’s bed, “You were so cute,”
“You can just say dorky,” He corrected, fighting the urge to cover his cheeks with his hands, because he could feel the way they gave away his self-consciousness.
But she shook her head, leaning into him with adoring eyes as she stared at the photo, “No, I mean cute. Look at your little hair, you were so tiny- aw!”
He laughed awkwardly, not missing the way she put a hand on his leg in reassurance, and Diana handed her another photo of a toddler with thick dark hair, those hazel eyes she loved, huge and round on the baby's smiling face. Bugsy melted when she saw the milk teeth gleaming in the midst of his laugh, yet she burst into sheepish giggles when she realised baby Spencer had no clothes on.
Spencer’s eyes widened when he saw the thing dangling between his legs as the picture captured him crawling towards where Diana had the camera. “Mom!”
Diana rolled her eyes, producing another one of Spencer watering the flowers with the garden hose, barely one year old in a bucket hat and, yet again, nothing else. “Oh, Spencer, don’t give me that, look how cute those little butt cheeks were,”
Bugsy slapped a hand over her mouth, her brows pulling together at the endearingly innocent photos, and she met Spencer’s gaze again, the urge to squish his cheeks in between her fingers suddenly itching her hands. Though, judging by the embarrassment in his expression, he wouldn’t like it very much even if she did mean the best of intentions.
“You were so adorable,” She confessed, looking back down at the two tiny, round butt cheeks that made something well in her chest because it was Spencer, so small and vulnerable and helpless. She turned to Diana, her eyes wide with love, “How did you not want just millions of them?”
The woman laughed, leaning against Bugsy and palming off another photo, this time of Spencer in swimming trunks at the beach, likely around two or three, a line of white sun cream running down his nose and cheeks as he looked to be grumbling about the sand on his legs.
“Because I knew none of them could ever be as special as my Spencer, and then that just wouldn’t be fair on them.” She said simply, and Bugsy smiled at the woman, truly smiled, because despite everything her illness set against her, she loved her son more than anything in the world. “You don’t win the lottery and then pawn in your rings for a couple bucks, now do you?”
Bugsy chuckled, shaking her head. Elizabeth had never been so doting on her. She knew she shouldn’t think about her, shouldn’t compare the two of them because they weren’t similar even in the slightest. Diana was a single mother of a deadbeat husband who left, she battled a disease day in-day out that threatened to eat away at her brain, her memories of her son who thought the world of her, and she was still a better mother than hers had ever been.
Part of her felt that bitter sting that never really left her since she was thirteen, since she saw the maid at breakfast time more often than she ever saw her mother, the kid that got picked up and dropped off in another country like she was furniture, a barbie doll for her mother to primp and clean and boast about her big brain to her colleagues without ever showing a semblance of affection for the girl reading material eight years above her grade level.
Diana was living proof that no matter what, it’s not a challenge to love your children the way Elizabeth had always made it out to be, that she was difficult to love even for her own mother.
Bugsy bit the emotion back, knowing it was just the baby photos ramping up her hormones, and felt herself fall perhaps even more in love with Spencer Reid when she saw the photo of him at Christmas dressed as a Jedi.
–
She was quiet on the way home, her stomach warm with fondness, her hand warm with his palm as they held hands on top of the gearstick.
She watched the last of the sun peek through the trees in a cantaloupe orange and candy-floss pink swirl, and she let herself close her eyes under the day’s worth of laughter.
“What are you thinking about?” Spencer said after a moment, giving her hand a small squeeze when she didn’t answer right away, and he wondered if she may have even fallen asleep, feeling immediately guilty for waking her.
She looked at him with an uneasy smile on her face, and his brain threw up a million different reasons for it, almost all of them making him worry.
“I know my mom is a lot,” He said, his tone jittery and she started shaking her head immediately, forgetting he couldn’t see where he was looking at the road, “I know she’s-”
“She’s wonderful, Spencer. God, no, it’s not that. I loved her,” Bugsy cut him off, and his shoulder’s immediately sagged in relief. She moved her hand to tuck a single lock of hair behind his ear, and he nudged into her touch on instinct.
“Then what’s wrong?” He asked, his brows pulled together in worry as they came to a red stop light, and he put the Beetle into neutral. He looked over at her then, and he saw the way the grin had slipped off her face, leaving her with something oddly unreadable, though if he had to put a name to it, he would say doubtful, and she swallowed thickly.
“Do you ever worry…” She paused herself, because she already could see their picture perfect day spiralling down the drain like yesterday’s woes, “It’s nothing, just forget I said anything,”
“No, tell me,” Spencer insisted, and the road around them seemed to hold its breath waiting for her reply. He’d taken a nice route home, claiming he wanted to skip the eight pm traffic, whatever that was, had cut through one of those neighbourhoods they show on holiday brochures or estate agents' windows. The kind people with kids and volvo’s and yoga mom groups lived in.
Her eyes snapped out the front window when four young boys zipped past them on their bikes, their knees muddy from where they’d probably spent the day playing soccer, their clothes just as messy and torn, likely waiting to be scolded by their mothers for their recklessness. And pulling up the rear was a kid smaller than the others, jogging after them, wanting to cross the road before the light turned green, his glasses slipping down his nose with every step, and some weird, small part in Bugsy’s gut wanted to throw her arms around him and walk him home to make sure he got there safely.
Spencer’s hand was on her thigh, pulling her out of her thoughts for a second time, and she blinked a little too harshly, wishing she could just enjoy a lovely day for what it was rather than putting such a downer on things.
“I haven’t spoken to my mom since Emily’s funeral,” She said, swallowing heavily, and understanding passed over his face then. He knew he would never have with Elizabeth what they had just had with his mother. Even if she retired tomorrow and wasn’t jetting off to another country every week, Elizabeth Prentiss was a cold, shrewd woman who could make someone, mainly her daughters, feel empty just by being in the same room.
Her damning grey eyes, her tight lips that never smiled, her harsh brow.
“I don’t think she even kept any of my baby photos, none that don’t have her in them at least,” She confessed, and the lights flashed to amber, then green, and he was forced to let go of her for just a moment as he pulled off again, “I don’t… I don’t think she ever liked me.”
He had no idea what to say that would make it better. Usually he was so good at wriggling her problems out from the core, proving all her worst fears were wrong with simple logic. Yet he was at an end. Because Elizabeth had never shown any sign of loving her daughters, truly loving them beyond trophies.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” He tried, pulling over to stop at the curb because he hated speaking to her when he was distracted. “Some people just have a funny way of showing these things,”
But she shook her head, turning her eyes to her lap, “Your mom is… Amazing. And I feel like a total asshole for complaining about mine when yours is sick most of the time. And I know things weren’t great- I mean you were just a kid, you should have never had to look after her, it’s supposed to be the other way around, you know? But you’ll know she’s always loved you, like truly, truly loved you. I mean, you’re her whole world,” She rushed, like the thoughts had been bouncing around her head all day, waiting to burst out at the seams, which they had.
Spencer took the keys out of the ignition, shuffling in his seat to face her, and he only realised then she was watching where the four boys had taken off down the street on their bikes, the smallest one trailing at the back like a lost puppy.
“Don’t you ever worry sometimes I’ll be..” She started, and he knew where it was going before she forced herself to finish. Taking her hand in his, weaving his fingers between hers and squeezing them tight.
“Like your mom?” He said for her because the words were lingering in the air like alphabet soup. She nodded silently, grateful that he always seemed to know how her brain was ticking over. She reminded herself to make it up to him later, “Never,”
“But-” She started, and he grabbed her chin then, forcing her to look at him. He smiled dopily, because usually it was him who needed to be told how other people felt, and she swore his eyes had never looked so sweet.
“Never,” He repeated, feeling the smile spreading under his fingertips as it took the second turn for her to hear it, “If anything, I worry more about becoming like my dad,”
Her brows furrowed, and she shook her head again. Sometimes Spencer wondered if she knew she was so expressive. It was one of his favourite parts about her.
“Never,” She echoed back to him, and they shared a sombre smile, squeezing each others hand just that bit tighter, “I tell you what, the second either one of us starts becoming our parents, we have the right to call them a jackass,”
He laughed, nodding his head and leaning over the centre console to press his forehead to hers, “Alright, deal. Although I think I hear Freud rolling in his grave at that statement.”
She kissed him, hard, because she would never be able to tell him exactly how he made her feel with words alone. Over two hundred thousand words in the English Language, at least five other languages she could speak fluently, and yet not one of them knew how to describe this feeling. Like she had been absorbed so completely, effortlessly, by Spencer Reid. That she was disease ridden, riddled with Reid.
And the thought made her giggle into the kiss, because she would have to tell him some other time. Her hand ran through his hair, pulling him closer, and his hand skirted down to her waist to tease underneath her shirt.
They pulled away after a moment, staring with the same dazed look in their eyes.
“We have three more days in Vegas,” She started, fixing his collar and hair with idle fingers and pressing an absent peck to his lips, “Do you think we could go back one more time? To see your mom? If that’s okay with her, of course,”
And he smiled widely at her, nodding and pulling her in for another long kiss. They had a dinner reservation in a half hour, but he didn’t mind being five minutes late for once in his life, not if it meant he was with her.
The one with Scratch. [he buys a ring]
He’d walked past the jewellers three times that week on his way back from the coffee shop. Bugsy had a fair bit of paperwork to catch up on, despite him offering to halve her load with her because Hotch had already warned them once about the complaints he got from the other agents that she was using Reid’s memory as an unfair advantage, although he would argue that her brain was just as capable as his.
So, he’d been sent on a coffee run alone. He wasn’t complaining, it was just down the road, barely even a five minute walk, and it meant he got to look at the range of neatly cut diamonds in peace.
He wasn’t looking to buy it soon, at least that was what he’d told himself the first time he’d seen the pretty one in the corner. He was just having a browse, perhaps just looking at the watches they had on display and his eye had happened to fall to the women’s section below. The second time he’d stopped for a look, it was just to see if anyone had bought that one he’d seen the first time, and when he realised they hadn’t, his heart gave a somewhat relieved sigh that he decided he would confront later.
By the third time, the shop keeper stuck his head out the door, making Spencer jump.
“Either you’re buying or you’re fogging up my window, kid,” The old man’s voice was gruff, but he had kind eyes, that of a romantic, and Spencer supposed you didn’t sell a dozen engagement rings a day and not feel hopeful.
“J-just looking,” He stammered, taking a step away from the rings and double checking he hadn’t gotten any smudges on the glass, “Not to buy right now, just for future reference,”
“No one comes back that many times for future reference, son,” He said with a chuckle and Spencer hated the part of him that said that he was right, “Why not for right now?”
Spencer huffed quietly, wondering if her coffee would be cold by the time he got back at the rate he was going, “It’s still a little early. I don’t want to freak her out,”
She had been his girlfriend for one year, seven months and two weeks (and four days but who was counting). It had been her thirtieth birthday just a couple months ago, as far as he was concerned Bugsy had never dropped any hints about wanting to marry any time soon like he knew other women did at this time in their life.
He was happy where they were, in their apartment, in their semi-public relationship, with their boys that were starting to look a little grey and rickety on their paws. Spencer didn’t want anything to ruin that, even if that one ring did seem to call out to him like a siren song.
The jeweller grinned slyly, like he knew something Spencer didn’t, but he nodded at the kid nevertheless, “Well, that little number in the corner you’ve had your eye on has had two offers already, incase that sways your hand at all,”
And Spencer felt the jolt of injustice in his head at the idea of someone else taking that ring, one that he couldn’t get out of his head the entire way back to the office, one that only went away when he saw her smiling up at him.
One that only dissolved when he imagined how she would look wearing it.
–
“Tell Penelope I said hi,” Director Axelrod murmured, turning on his heel and heading back to his car as Hotch flashed a look down at the paper, the name ‘Peter Lewis’ scribbled out on the line and he passed the paper to Bugsy where she peered around his shoulder.
“Get this to Garcia, Lewis has his final victim already,” He said and she nodded, the two of them heading back to the car. Bugsy pulled her cell out her pocket, immediately calling their tech whizz where the rest of the team were at the office an hour away.
“Peter Lewis, born and raised in Jacksonville, Florida. To call him a Math genius would be an understatement,” Garcia reported, her press on nails clicking against the keyboard as she worked in the candlelight since Lewis had hacked into their electric systems.
“Where was he in the foster system?” Hotch asked, Bugsy holding the phone up over the centre console so they could both speak to their team.
“He was… ugh this WiFi hotspot is the worst,” They waited, Hotch heading for the freeway, “He was not in the foster system. He had two very biological parents and they ran the foster home until it- oh dear,”
“Looks like we found Mr Scratch,” Rossi sighed, and Bugsy’s brows furrowed, waiting for a response.
“So one of the boys in the house said Peter’s dad would dress up as the devil then the other kids would follow suit, this has to be where all the victims stayed before they were adopted and their names were changed,” JJ chimed in.
“Did Lewis’s father serve any time?” Bugsy piped up, chewing the inside of her cheek because the whole case had given her the heebie jeebies. Grown ups reporting sights of shadow monsters and waking up with dead loved ones. She thought by now she had heard it all.
“The case was pending and then he was killed in jail for being a paedophile. Peter’s residency is still listed as Florida,” Garcia said, her mouse whirling around at the speed of light judging by the soft ticks they heard on their end.
“He broke into FBI files to find someone in witness protection, did any of the kids from the home end up in WITSEC?” Hotch asked, clicking the blinker down to chand lanes and overtake the ford infront of them.
“That would be… no? No, none of them,” Garcia replied, and the team shared a confused pause.
“Who the hell is he still hunting?”
Hotch spoke up, his own mind whirring as to who could possibly be Lewis’ endgame, “Garcia, who ran the investigation in Florida?”
“Hold on, that would be Dr. Susannah Regan, who went into witness protection on a very nice estate in Columbia, Maryland,” Bugsy and Hotch looked at one another, sharing the same thought and the unit chief floored the gas pedal, knowing Regan didn’t have a whole load of time left if Peter had gotten to her already.
“Send Reid the location, we’re on our way,” Hotch ordered, and Penelope was already ten steps ahead, Rossi and JJ grabbing their vests and heading for the garage.
Bugsy hung up, checking her gun was still holstered as Hotch launched them the final five minutes to Dr Regan’s home.
And yet she couldn’t help feel like they were walking into the belly of the beast the victims had been describing.
–
Garcia hadn’t been kidding when she said it was a nice estate. By the time they’d gotten out the car, the entire street was silent, a quiet only lots of acres and high gates bought you.
“You stay behind me, we watch each other's six. We get Dr Regan and we get out, are we clear?” Hotch muttered, his eyes darling to the living room window where the curtains had been pulled closed, one single lamp left lit.
She nodded, the two of them edging towards the door that had already been left open a crack, “Crystal,”
He took a second to breath, wondering if they should wait for back up, but Savannah didn’t have alot of time, not if the unsub was already inside like he suspected, before he raised his hand up to the knocker and snapped it a couple times, pushing the door open.
“Dr Regan?”
“It’s open, come in,” The woman’s voice called, though it sounded too chipper to be authentic, some sort of uncanny valley as if it was an automated response from an answering machine.
Checking Bugsy was still behind him, he pushed on, his footsteps light and quiet, eyes scanning the large antechamber, the grand piano sat in front of a huge fireplace cold to the touch, the lights all switched off despite the owner being home.
Maybe Dr Regan was cheaping out on her bills. But Bugsy doubted it. Something in her gut didn’t sit right.
“Are you alright?” Aaron called, his torso squeezing against his vest as he scanned what he could see from the room, and she held up behind him, flicking a look over her shoulder every once in a while for movement from the other rooms.
“Agent Hotchner, I got Agent Rossi’s message,” She said, again in that cheery voice, despite her words claiming she understood she was in peril, and the sound of it made Bugsy’s chest seize with suspicion.
“Doctor, you’re in danger, you need to come with us,” She explained, her eyes squinting to see in the damning lowlight of the home.
“I understand,” That robot voice spoke, “I’m in the study,”
They paused for a second, exchanging another look before pressing on because they had no time to lose over silly hesitations. Passing through the entrance into the room lined with bookshelves on bookshelves, expensive tapestry on expensive tapestry, their heads flicked over to a frail older woman that somewhat resembled the woman they’d been sent from Penelope, when she had was freshly turned twenty five with a sparkly new bookdeal under her nose.
She sighed in gratitude when the entered, and Bugsy held back a moment as Hotch moved in, keeping her finger on the trigger, “I’m so glad you’re here, you need to see this,” Savannah produced a long, glass sharp letter opener that could easily pass for a knife with the eight inch edge of it, “He wants you to see this.”
And with that, without hesitation or caution she jammed the knife through her own windpipe as if puppeteered by a master, and Bugsy leapt forward to try stop the bleeding just as Aaron did.
Only she never got that far, because no sooner had she stepped forward a hand reached out from the darkness, grabbing her by the scruff of her hair and throwing her to the floor while she had been caught off guard. Pain exploded behind her eyes as her nose met the hardwood floor, and she swore she cracked a tooth or two. Her hand scrambled out for her gun, only to watch a large black boot stomp down on her digits that made her hiss in pain.
She heard a scuffle up ahead where Peter had managed to grab Hotch equally unaware, and she watched her unit chief tumble to the floor, smacking his head on the table on his way down.
And it was then that she smelled it. A raw chemically odour that ran up her bloodied nose, went into her mouth when she tried calling out for Hotch, and it made her cough up a thick mucus before it had even slid down her throat.
She heard shots fired, and it was enough for her to reach out for her own gun again, hoping that Lewis was distracted enough to not pay attention to her, only to realise somewhere in the scuffle he had kicked her weapon across the floor.
When had he done that? Why hadn’t she seen him? Probably because the pain behind her eyes had damn near wiped her vision into a blur of white.
It was then the nausea hit her, the vertigo washing over her like she’d stood up too fast, only she wasn’t standing up at all, in fact she was pretty sure she was on her hands and knees trying to crawl towards Hotch.
Hotch, who lay on the floor with his own eyes rolling like the room was spinning for him too, and she wondered how on earth anyone could have beaten Hotch. He was a rock, immovable, irreplaceable, forever.
“Hotch-” She garbled out, her voice tragic and weak in a way he’d never heard before.
And he opened his mouth to speak, only to find his own voice gone when he saw the figure leering over her body, a glint of a knife in his hand, and Aaron wanted to know how he had managed to emerge out of the shadows when he could have sworn Lewis was right next to him.
The drug, it had to be the drug. God his eyelids were heavy, what had they been in this house for?
But Aaron felt a scream lodge in his mouth, sounding more like a yelp, something that could have been a mix of ‘no’ and raw anger because Peter had brought one of those big black boots behind him and kicked Bugsy so hard in the gut she flew to her side like roadkill, the wind leaving her lungs with a whimper of pain, and her eyes never left Hotch’s gaze as he did so.
“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m going to need some alone time with Mr Hotchner here,” Lewis said, and before Aaron could plea or beg, he watched the man lean down and drive a swift line across her throat, as if he were simply gutting a pig, and her carotid artery was sliced clean in two, her blood spewing all over Aaron’s shoes, seeping into the floor.
And Aaron went to scream, felt the tears well in his eyes because he’d failed her, only this time, unlike Hailey, he was forced to watch every second of life trickle from her face as she bled out onto the floor, choking and clawing at the floor for reprieve.
What would he say to the team, to Spencer? What would he say to Emily?
Aaron let himself sob, shaking his head in denial and squeezing his eyes tightly shut, hoping to god medical would get here soon. It would be too late by then, he already knew it.
Bugsy was dead. There wasn’t any miracle fix or band aids that were going to fix that.
And yet in the next moment the sound of her body writhing in desperation against the floor, the sight of which he couldn’t even bring himself to watch, it had gone quiet.
And Aaron peeled his eyes open, wondering if she had passed, if she was still in pain, if she wanted someone to hold her hand as she went, and he urged his heavy muscles to do something god damnit anything to help her, except his body felt like lead and even opening his eyes was too much for him.
But there was nothing there. Not the puddle of blood he’d just watched spill over the flooring, not her hand reaching out for him, clawing at her throat for reprieve and certainly not a body of a girl he once loved like a daughter who would stay with him for a lifetime.
All of it, just… gone.
“Don’t you worry, Mr Hotchner, I’m saving the girl for later. Can’t have a pretty thing like that go to waste,” Lewis smiled toothily, and Aaron wanted to wrap his hands around the bastard’s throat, wring the life out of him until he was a crumpled mess on the floor, “But for now, it’s you and me, Aaron. And I think you should answer your phone. Your team are on their way for you,”
–
Her scream was piercing, cut through two walls. He could hear it the second they stepped out of the car. He’d all but thrown himself out the vehicle before Anderson had even stopped, probably would have barged right through the front door without even drawing his gun if it hadn’t been for Morgan grabbing him.
“Reid, Reid, no-” Derek said, even though his voice wavered, his head flicking back at the house, “You can’t just head in there without backup, it could be a trap, man,”
“She’s in there, can’t you hear her?” Spencer said, his eyes wide with terror as the sound of her screaming kicked up a whole other decibel and Spencer's stomach churned at the thought of what might be the root cause of it, “Please, Morgan, I can’t-”
He didn’t even realise his eyes had welled up at the sound alone until he couldn’t finish his words, and Derek was staring at him with an equally solemn expression.
JJ rounded the other SUV, Rossi at her tail, their guns drawn low to their thighs as they gave Derek a nod; ready to enter.
“Just promise me you’ll keep your head, Reid,” Morgan said with a cautious tone. Realistically, Spencer should have stayed back at the office with Kate. He was too emotionally invested in the case, though no one wanted to be the one to argue that with him, knowing Spencer would only fight back that they would all struggle to keep their cool once they entered the house.
Because the UnSub had Hotch and Bugsy. He’d taken family. He’d made it personal.
And then, just as Spencer nodded, unholstering his own gun and making sure his vest was tightened at his waist, perhaps the worst happened.
A shot fired from inside the house, loud and unmistakable over the deafening cries and Bugsy’s screaming stopped.
–
Spencer didn’t even remember entering the house, not really, despite his promise to Morgan. He felt like his heart was in his throat, images of Maeve’s brain matter splattered over the warehouse floor flooding his head, because apparently a revolver can cut through two heads at once and still pack a punch.
Spencer was realistic, had sprung into a clinical sort of worry that told him exactly how many times he’d told her he loved her (two thousand, six hundred and seventeen times) and that maybe that wasn’t enough. It told him the amount of kisses they’d shared could have easily been doubled if he dared to steal them more often before bed, if he’d been honest with her years before he had, if he’d just taken five minutes off his showers.
He had barely survived Maeve dying. If Bugsy was gone… there would be nothing left of him. Nothing important anyway. Just a body, limbs, a heart that would never beat again. He wagered even his blood would stop because the idea of her gone from the world had already made him cold.
He heard movement in the living room, and judging by the way Derek’s head whipped over to their right, he had too. And before they could raise their guns up to aim, Derek edging forward to kick the door in with pure, simmering rage, a voice sounded out from the other side.
“In here!”
Hotch. Hotch, who sounded like he was weeping, or at least had a frog in his throat, hummed his words almost. The men drew a breath of relief, Derek reaching forward to open the living room door, his weapon still tight in between his fingers as he pushed.
“Hotch?” He said, though Spencer’s eyes cast around the room the second he confirmed his unit chief was okay. He had a nasty gash on his head, likely from where he’d fallen, and his pupils were dilated. Drugged. “Hotch, where’s Bugsy?”
“H-he took her-” Aaron slurred, attempting to get to his feet, holding out a hand to the sofa and using the furniture to claw himself up to a stand, “Upstairs I think- I need to get her- Where’s my gun-”
Morgan rushed in to grab Hotch under his arms as Rossi and JJ burst in from the kitchen, Rossi calling out behind them for medical attention.
“Hotch, you’re not going anywhere, you need to- Reid,” Morgan yelled, but Spencer ignored him. Because he could apologise later.
Lewis had Bugsy alone, had taken her upstairs, that was what Hotch said. And Spencer couldn’t stand by and wait while they had no idea what was happening to her. He heard JJ’s footsteps pounding behind him, following him up the stairs, and he knew he should be paying more attention for any hint if Lewis was still in the building. But he didn’t. All he could think about was those screams. Raw. Guttural. Like she was being skinned alive.
His eyes trailed the empty bedrooms, any sign of movement whether it be Lewis or the woman he would trade his own life for in a heart beat if it came down to it. But there was nothing there, not even as JJ swept the other handful of rooms, leaving them with one small storage room at the end of the hallway, and the two of them cast a glance at one another.
JJ nodded to him, and he reached out a shaky hand, praying on everything in the vast universe he’d spent his entire life learning about that someone heard him begging to keep his Bugsy alive.
He slid the door open, cocking his gun up to the figure in the corner, his own weapon at his feet as he smiled in a smug manner.
JJ took stock of their surroundings, waiting for the trap they were walking into to spring, only he held his hands out in surrender.
Because he had already gotten what he wanted. He had killed Dr Regan, and taken two cops down with him.
“Where is she?” Spencer spat, handing JJ cuffs as the woman grabbed him harsher than she should do, because the pleased look on his face was infuriating, only made worse by the chuckle that bubbled out of his mouth.
“She’s in the closet,” He nodded his head to the smallest bedroom, and Spencer’s eyes narrowed, “She sure is a darling, isn’t she? So easy to tame once that smart mouth of hers was gone,”
Spencer wanted to shoot him between the eyes there and then, put him down like the sick dog he was, but instead he fled after where Lewis had directed him, because he didn’t know if she was injured herself or if it was already too late.
For once in his life, Spencer Reid knew nothing.
–
And then he saw her.
She was alive, thank god she was alive, a dent in her nose that suggested he’d thrown her to the ground face first, her knees skinned, her palms scratched.
But that wasn’t what worried him.
Because no sooner had he opened the door to the closet, reaching forward to yank her hands off her ears, or maybe pull her for a hug, or maybe break down into sobs and tell her how sorry he was he couldn’t have stopped any of it, she’d started screaming again.
He didn’t think after so many years on the job he’d ever heard something so gut-wrenching. For a moment he thought he might even be sick. Because it was full of pure terror. Not the childish fright you get from a scary movie or a loop de loop on a rollercoaster, but blood curdling fear like he had never heard before.
It was enough to have Morgan running up the stairs with his gun drawn, only to see Spencer frozen, his hands reaching out to grab her, and it was only then the agent realised Reid was trying to speak to her.
“Baby, baby it’s okay, it’s me, it’s Spencer, you know me,” He said, his lip quivering, his words warbling with tears, “Please, please come back to me, I don’t know what to do- please just tell me what to do-”
“Reid, she’s not herself. Hotch said Lewis made him see things, awful things, just like he did with the other victims,” Morgan said, holstering his gun, his own resolve crumbling when he came closer and realised she had her eyes screwed tightly shut, curling herself into a ball in the corner like a kid trying to hide from the boogey-monster.
But Spencer didn’t listen, he couldn’t accept that they had found her alive and still he had been too late, didn’t want to accept that he had her in his grasp and yet she was still living her a personal hell with no end in sight.
“Please, please, come back to me,” He sniffled, leaning forward onto his knees to try hold her hands in his, maybe get her to hear his voice and wake up from whatever nightmare she was stuck in, “Come on, I got you,”
“No, no, no, you’re not real, you’re not real,” She screeched, shoving his hands off her, and it was then he saw the dribble of tears running off her nose, “You’re not, I won’t kill him, I won’t-”
It was the ravings of a mad woman. But Spencer didn’t doubt for one second that whatever was happening inside that big brain of hers felt entirely real. He heard Morgan draw a sharp breath, turning to face away from the girl and steady himself where his dark eyes lined with woe and salt.
Spencer hated seeing her cry, hated not knowing how to help her even more, and he didn’t care if she pushed him away even more. He had to hold her, hold her and make her listen, make her understand she was safe because he was there.
Spencer swore then and there that he wouldn’t let anything touch her ever again as long as he lived.
It took everything in him to ignore the way her hands scratched at his wrists desperately, and he wondered if in her mind he’d taken the form of some beast ready to swallow her whole. But he was sure he could calm her down with some coaxing, get her to see what was real if he was patient and gentle enough. He scooped an arm under her legs that shook, and it only took him a second to realise he had peed herself in the throes of her nightmare, the sight of it causing another cry to roll from his tongue. He didn’t care about the mess, because his entire focus was on her as her hands thrashed against his chest, trying everything to get him off her, even when his other hand wrapped around the back of her head and pressed her tightly into his shoulder, squeezing her against him in his lap like she was an inconsolable child.
“Please, please, I can’t, I can’t do it again, I don’t understand,” She wailed, her voiced croaking and pathetic and he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d damaged her vocal chords, “I don’t understand,”
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” He cooed softly, pressing his head next to her ear and rocking her slowly, “It’s me, it’s Spencer. I’m real, this is real,”
Her hands stopped their fight against his body, his own grip tight and not showing any signs of letting go any time soon as he waited for her to wear herself out, for her body to lose its adrenaline and slip out of its fight response. She pushed him limply a few more times, with little more than the strength of a toddler, and he knew she was coming back down, at least something close to it.
“I’m so tired,” Her voice was muddled with tears, slurring and stumbling over each other and it was then that JJ walked in with three paramedics behind her.
The blonde’s face evened out when she saw the girl was alive, nothing but a few surface wounds, but it was then she saw over Spencer’s shoulder the way her eyes were clenched tightly together, the red marks on Spence’s alabaster skin where she had put up a fight behind cradled in his arms.
And JJ knew then that something inside Bugsy had changed that day.
“I know, you were so brave, you were so brave for me,” Spencer nodded, his cheeks flooding as he tried to keep his tone strong, stroking the back of her hair softly, “You did so good, I’m so sorry,”
“I’m so tired and I don’t understand,” She said, like she was putting sentences together for the first time, and it was like suddenly the fight had been sucked out of her as she slumped against him, not even realising in her haze that she needed to be showered off desperately.
“I know, honey,” He murmured, sniffling and pressing his face into her neck, “You can sleep now, I got you,”
She hummed like she didn’t quite believe him, like she still thought he was some figment of her imagination, but she hadn’t the strength to fight back, to call his bluff. And so she drifted in and out of sleep, as the paramedics got her on a stretcher, Spencer hovering over her face incase she woke up in a panic again, cracking her eyes open right as they got her on the back of the ambulance and suddenly it wasn’t Spencer’s face she saw flitting in and out of her eyeline, it was Hotch.
“Hotch-” She tried, her hand swinging out at her side with her attempt of grabbing onto his face because there was a trail of blood down his cheek. Her voice was fried, just like Spencer had suspected, her words sounding as if she had swallowed stones, “Hotch, your head,”
“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I should have known he would be there,” Hotch said, as her eyes rolled back, straining desperately to keep herself awake. But she had said it herself. She was just so tired. “I shouldn’t have taken you in there,”
“I don’t think I like dreaming anymore,” She garbled childishly, a small frown on her face, and Hotch bit his lip to hide a whimper, raising a hand to her cheek, and Spencer sat at the foot of the stretcher, his neck and wrists sore where she’d clawed him, but he didn’t care.
Hotch gave her a long kiss to her forehead, one Spencer pretended not to see for the sake of paperwork, because he knew Hotch needed it, even as she’d been sucked right back into the reverie of sleep, their eyes never left her frail form, not even when the paramedics started hooking things up to her wrists to take her charts.
Spencer knew then he should have bought that ring.
–
She’d been staring at the ceiling for about five minutes before he tried to pry an answer out of her.
He’d tried not to smother her the second she woke up, had seen the hesitation and distrust swirling in her gaze when she saw him there, and he wondered if she thought it was another one of her dreams she had yet to wake up from. But he was real, and he was worried, and he loved her. God, did he love her. Loved her so much he couldn’t stand for one more moment to see her so dissociated from a world where she was his and he was hers and everyone was missing her.
“What did he make you see?” Spencer tried, his voice as soft as he could try make it without crying, because her gaze remained in her lap, the side effects of the drugs making her a little woozy, “Baby, I can’t help you unless you talk to me, please just, let me help you,”
Her throat was in agony the second she opened her mouth to speak, ripping with pain when she cleared her throat and in an instant, Spencer’s hand was on her thigh drawing comforting circles with his thumb.
“Emily was there, she came to- r-rescue me,” She started shakily, her hands trembling beneath the covers and she breathed slowly through her mouth, “S-she wasn’t wearing a vest, and when I asked her she said she’d gotten the first flight out of London to get me; and then… Doyle,”
She swallowed, and he took her hand in his, giving her a reassuring squeeze, and she tried not to let her eyes well up only to find it was already too late.
“He stabbed her like he did that night, but it was different this time. She was on the floor, trying to get away, begging me to call for help but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything, and I was trying so hard to scream and tell someone, but I couldn’t…” She sniffled, squeezing his hand so tight it hurt, but he didn’t care, “And he wouldn’t stop. He just kept going, over and over again, and I had to watch every second of it knowing it was my fault,”
The floor was red, a horrible midnight ichor of Emily’s blood seeping from her body, more blood than a person should ever be able to hold. Last time Doyle had killed her, there had been a hairline chance that she would pull through and Emily had beaten all the odds stacked against her.
But this wasn’t like last time. There was no miracle escape to Europe. Bugsy would be surprised if there was even anything left of her to put in the casket.
Her eyes were terrified as she watched Doyle drive the knife into Emily’s skin, the scream lodging in her throat for a reason she couldn’t place. She begged herself to do something, say something, tell the man that she would rip him limb from limb if she ever got the feeling back in her legs, wail for help because that was her sister, her big sister, and she’d stopped moving a while ago.
Stop, stop it, stop it.
But the words wouldn’t come out. She was frozen. Numb. Like someone had unplugged her from the socket, and the only part of her that did work was her eyes, why did it have to be her eyes.
And the blade was red, so red she thought she’d never see anything else other than red again, as so was the floor, and his arms, and Emily’s clothes. Red. All over. Driving into her stomach with a wet squelch that made Bugsy want to vomit.
Over and over and over.
She burst out crying then, the first real emotion she’d shown in days, and he was out of his chair in seconds, cradling her to his chest and shuffling to sit next to her on her bed.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, it wasn’t real, baby,” He soothed, and she shook her head, her tears soaking his shirt through, and all he could do was stroke her hair down and press gentle kisses to her brow, “You were so brave,”
“And his face changed, and he wasn’t Doyle, it was Hotch. And he-he gave me his gun, and said I had to pick between him or you because one of you had to die and-and I wouldn’t do it, I wouldn’t pick-” Her words warbled into his shirt, an amalgamation of sobs and deep breaths in between sentences, but she needed to get it out. It would eat her alive if she didn’t.
“Choose,” It was Hotch’s voice. The same rough edge, same bite he used with the UnSubs they chased, the tone he’d never used on her.
She shook her head, because the feeling had tingled back up her spine into her neck by now, and with it brought her voice, her sorrow.
“No, no, Hotch, please don’t make me, I can’t, I won’t-” She sniffled, looking at the thunderous eyes of her unit chief she’d known for years. He didn’t look like himself, like someone was wearing him as a mask, yet she knew it was him by his steady hands that drew his gun from its holster. He had always been sure of himself.
How had she got here? Had Lewis got to Hotch, brainwashed him into slaughtering and terrorising his own team. Whatever it was, Bugsy knew in her chest that whatever was standing in front of her was not Aaron Hotchner.
“Me or him,” He said simply, as if it was that easy, as if he wasn’t pressing a gun to Spencer’s head.
The sob fell from her lips before she could help it, looking to Hotch’s feet where he held the love of her life bound, his eyes rimmed with fear.
“I can’t, please, I can’t,” She wept, her cheeks soaked, the salt trickling down her neck and into her shirt. Or was it blood. Had she hit her head? Why did her head hurt?
She couldn’t care, couldn’t think of anything other than the fact a monster had taken over the man she thought the world of. She knew if anything happened she would never be able to hold it against him if anything happened, even if it would always be his face in her mind killing Spencer. Because it wasn’t him. It was Lewis. It wasn’t him.
Hotch’s finger clicked a bullet into the chamber, pointing the gun at Spence’s crown, and she warbled in protest, because her legs were still numb, her body from the waist down useless, but this time she could scream and fight and yell all the ways she begged for this to stop.
“Hotch, please, please don’t. It’s not real, it’s not real,” She yawped, her chest in agony, her head spinning because she could have sworn Emily was just here, could have sworn she had been coming to save her. Why was Emily here? And she’d usually be embarrassed to admit it at her big age, but she wanted her sister. She wanted her big sister more than anything, “Hotch,”
But the man who looked and sounded like Aaron Hotchner wasn’t listening. Instead he looked at her with a steely glare, cocking the gun once more between his fingers, “If you’re too much a spoiled little bitch to choose, then I suppose I’ll have to do it for you,”
And with that he pulled the muzzle away from Spencer’s head, and before she could say another word, utter another plea, he angled the weapon under his chin, pointing it straight for his brain, and pulled the trigger.
She thinks she screamed, though her hearing had gone with a staticky blur, his blood spraying across the wall like something out of a slasher movie. She remembered howling in shock, her face soaked with ichor and salted tears, and she expected Spencer to rush forward, grab her in his arms and cradle her with soft words.
But he did. Those hazel eyes she would know in every life time stared blankly at her, all trace of terror gone from his gentle face, and in a whirl of movement, he was standing where Hotch had been, his body gone in a wisp of smoke, like he was nothing more than a magician’s magic act, like her chest hadn’t just cleaved in two at the sight of him dying.
And Spencer took his place, the lips she’d kissed a thousand times pressed into a scowl, the hands she wanted to melt under, to hold her and tell her he was going to fix everything and make it make sense again holding the loaded gun.
And at his feet, bound by the same rope he had been was JJ. Freightened, beaten. Mother, wife, best friend, sister. JJ.
“Choose,” Spencer said, but it was cold and unfeeling. Nothing like the saccharine tone he used with her, and she felt the pit of pain and suffering and dread that had opened in her stomach grow only deeper, “Me or her,”
–
She had cried for about two hours after that, and he had held her for all seven thousand, two hundred seconds of it, stroking her hair, reassuring her that Lewis was gone, the drug disposed of, and more importantly, telling her he would never let anything like that happen to her again, over his cold, lifeless body.
And he meant it. With everything in him, Spencer would never let an UnSub get so close to harming the woman he loved. Not a bruise, or a cut. Not even a scratch.
And for the three days they’d kept her in for observation she’d slept, and slept some more like she hadn’t known a wink of rest in years. And with it came the nightmares, of all the people she loved splattering their own brains over the walls, Chose, chose, me or them?
But by the fourth day she was allowed more than one visitor in her room, the spot that had solely been filled by Spencer, who would take to his grave that he’d gone home and washed their clothes of the mess she’d made when she wasn’t herself.
And on that fourth day, the team had arrived with love by the bucket load, because Bugsy was family, and family never let each other suffer alone.
“Oh, look at you!” It was Penelope first, ofcourse it was Penelope first, “Spencer, where’s that cardigan I told you to bring her, she could get cold, and that purple is so her colour- oh what am I saying, come here!”
Penelope bounded over to her bedside, not completely blind to the way Spencer tensed up as she threw her arms around the girl, fighting his urge to chide Garcia into being more gentle because he knew he’d been hogging time with her while the others had been forced to wait.
“Pen,” Bugsy said, breathing out and hugging the woman back as hard as she could, “Why do you smell like lavender?”
Garcia released her clutches (reluctantly) and produced a big tote bag of trinkets, one of which Bugsy suspected was a candle.
“Spencer said they might be keeping you another couple of days and so I brought you some goodies to cheer this place up,” She said with a chirp, reaching in her bag for two stuffed teddies, and Bugsy’s eyes melted when she realised they resembled Niko and Sergio, their colourings not quite identical but the thought had been there, “So you don’t miss your boys too much.”
Bugsy smiled, her chest spreading with warmth “Thankyou so much, Penelope,”
And Garcia went to respond, her smile wide and relieved, when another voice spoke up behind her, “Quite hogging her, mama, there are people waiting to see the kid,”
Penelope rolled her eyes which made Bugsy snicker slightly, moving out the way for Derek to lean over her bedside and give her a tight squeeze.
“You gave us a scare and a half, baby cakes,” He said with a sigh, and she hugged him back the best she could, though his arm muscles were the size of her head.
“I’m sorry,” She murmured, and he patted her on the back gently, before letting her go for the next person waiting to pounce on her.
“Don’t be ridiculous, you don’t need to be sorry,” JJ shushed, her slender arms all but crushing her into her chest, and she heard the breath of relief from the woman’s throat as she stroked a hand over her spine, “Just get better for us, okay?”
And Bugsy knew she didn’t mean the crack in her nose Peter Lewis had given her when he’d grabbed her by the nape of her neck and slammed her face into the wooden door the second Hotch’s back was turned. She meant the screaming. The nightmares. The chill that ran down her spine even now when she looked at every one of her friends and remembered that night. Picturing their brains on the wall, their blood on her face-
“Henry drew you a picture,” JJ said, pulling away and presenting her with her own gift basket full of homemade goodies and fresh pyjamas because the ones she had from the hospital were starting to itch, “He said you needed magic kisses,”
Plucking the card from the front of the wrapping, her lips quirked into a smile when she saw two stick figures, a small dot with yellow hair labelled ‘henry’ with an arrow, and a tall woman with a triangle dress and two glittery wings labelled ‘bugy’, and she was almost certain it was because they had played fairies and princes the last time she had gone over.
She flipped the page, and saw his hand writing scrawled in a green crayon, a few spelling errors here and there where he had tried his best.
‘to bugy
mommy said you wer hurt at work and needed somethink to make you happy agan.
I gave the card majick kisses before mommy takes it to the hospital to make you better agan.
also plees coud we play princes again some time soon.
Love Henry’
She chuckled, her finger stroking over the letters gently, because she could imagine him at his little blue table writing it out for her, and she handed it off to Spencer to put on her bedside table.
“Thankyou JJ,” She said earnestly, and the blonde nodded, squeezing her leg under the blanket gently before she moved over for Rossi to shuffle in, ruffling the girl’s hair because he would joke later that his back couldn’t handle all the movement when really he felt like she’d been mauled with enough affection for one day.
“You okay, kid?” He said, his eyes roving over the bruise on her nose that had bled into her eyes, and she nodded, smiling up at him somewhat convincingly.
“I’m still kicking aren’t I?” She said, and the older man chuckled, shaking his head, “Can’t get rid of me that easily,”
And it was almost true, the small seed of double planting in her own head because for a second in that house she had thought things were done for her. And Spencer had thought the same, judging by the way he nervously cleared his throat, playing with the collars of his shirt.
But Rossi nodded with her, “You kidding? There’s enough life left in you to resurrect all of my dead end marriages,” The team snickered, Rossi squeezing her arm the way grandads do, “Kate sends her love, she had to take Meg to her dance recital, she said she’s dropping by later with good coffee,”
Bugsy took a sigh of pleasure, because she would kill for a steaming cup of good coffee, and Rossi smiled at her attitude they’d all missed in the office.
And then there was Hotch, who looked damn near like a dog with a tail between his legs, sporting his own jagged forehead wound that had been stitched up, his lips pulled into a guilty pout unlike everyone else's grateful beams.
“Bugsy,” He started mournfully, and he swallowed heavily, “I’m-”
“Don’t-” She shook her head, looking up at him from where she’d sat up in the bed to accommodate everyone’s hugging, “It wasn’t your fault, so don’t give me that. He caught us both of guard,”
But he still didn’t look like he quite accepted that answer, settling to reach out and squeeze the hand that was laying across her stomach, his skin warm and rough as he held her like she was cracking glass under his touch.
She realised she had been wrong that day with Lewis, when she’d been damn near shaking in her spot because of the man who looked so much like Hotch, and she saw the fatal flaw that gave it all away.
His face was set in a frown more often than not, and it was for that reason a lot of the agents on the other floors lived in fear of SSA Hotchner’s thunderous tone and barking attitude, but Bugsy knew that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. Because while he could be cold and domineering and bossy, his eyes told her all she needed to know.
He was hurt. He was guilty. He was worried. He was mourning. He couldn’t stop seeing Peter Lewis slitting her throat in that flash of a blade. He didn’t want to take his eyes off her incase it was all a dream in itself, that they had never been found, he had never woke up, they had never saved her.
His eyes were haunted by the past twenty years of his life, perhaps what happened even before then because she wasn’t so stupid to miss how he was more rough on child beaters and abusive fathers than he was their usual UnSubs, how he was so extra gentle with Jack, how he hated raising his voice. And inside the big scary exterior, Bugsy saw a boy who only wanted to save everyone because no one was ever there to save him.
She squeezed his hand tightly in hers, pulling him towards her and he’d resisted hugging her to start with because he knew the frog would leap into his throat, but he could never deny her. And he didn’t, he simply leaned over, caressed the back of her head over his shoulder with one of his enormous palms and gave her a warm hug no monster or demon or whatever she had seen could ever be capable of.
And Bugsy felt stupid for ever believing anything she’d seen.
–
They stayed for another hour or so, Derek running out to grab Bugsy a subway because the food at the hospital hadn’t been the best, and she had devoured the steak and cheese footlong so fast Rossi’s brows had raised into his hairline. Spencer handed her a strawberry flavoured pudding pot, the lid already peeled open for her and a spoon.
And it was then a figure came rushing through the door, so fast they were surprised they hadn’t heard the heels on the linoleum and the whole room stopped for a breath, Bugsy dropped her pudding cup down her shirt, barely even making her first bite count.
“Why did no one tell me those two were screwing for eight months?” Emily barked, gesturing between the two agents that cuddled up on the hospital bed, and almost as soon as the pure joy to see her older sister had flooded her body, it ebbed again, and Bugsy rolled her eyes.
“Eleven hour flight, Em, and a buttload of head trauma and that’s all you have to say to me?” She snipped, mopping up her pudding with the edge of her finger.
“I got weekly updates about the consistency of Sergio’s bowel movements but this you missed out?” She threw her hands up, sighing in contempt and almost immediately the girls were bickering like they hadn’t spent a single day apart from one another, but then Spencer supposed that’s what happened when you were blood.
And part of him wondered just who was going to tell Emily about the proposal, the same small part that had gone and bought the ring just yesterday while she’d been sleeping.
He supposed he could live with it being his secret for a few weeks longer.
--
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𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓
"i'll be there for you" universe masterlist
pairing: bestfriend!roommate!steve harrington x fem!reader
word count: 5.7k words
warnings: explicit language, so so much angst (but with a happy ending), some fluff at the end, just a whole lot of emotions in this one!
summary: in which during steve’s birthday ski trip to colorado everything he’s been keeping from you finally comes out
author's note: i had the idea for this specific one probably since the beginning of this series and now here we finally are many many months later<333 also this one is very much that one episode of friends coded where they were supposed to go skiing but never did. not once do i actually write them skiing in this but i promise the thought was there lol
general note: everything in this universe/series can be read as standalone oneshots but to understand the full “lore” it would prob be best to read the other stuff too<333
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
Winter 1986
When you first suggested the idea a month before Steve’s birthday, Robin and Eddie thought that a seventeen hour car ride to Denver sounded like hell. But, it luckily didn’t take a lot to convince them to agree and come along for the weekend trip. Because aside from gas and food, it was essentially a free trip to Colorado.
You’d all be staying at the cabin that your parents and Steve’s went to during Thanksgiving; which, after enduring an hour-long phone call with your mom when they came back from the trip because she wanted to tell you all about it, you learned that the place was really nice and they all were happy about buying it as a timeshare before even seeing it in person. She also told you that if you and Steve and some friends ever wanted to use it, you could, and you only responded with a half-hearted, “Sure, that would be nice,” because you just wanted to get off the phone, but months later you thought it could be a cool thing to do for Steve’s birthday.
You mentioned it to him first and he liked it, saying that it sounded fun and it would be hilarious to see you finally attempt skiing. You only rolled your eyes and playfully hit his arm in response, and then you mentioned the trip idea that night to Robin and Eddie when you all were on your way to the movies. And once they agreed, the plan became set.
It was barely four in the morning on Friday, the day before Steve’s birthday, when you all bunched into your car instead of Eddie’s van because he didn’t think it would be able to sustain that long of a road trip. Which, after spending many, many times in the old van, you completely agreed with him.
The drive surprisingly wasn’t that unbearable— Steve drove a lot of the time because he didn’t really mind it, you forced everyone to play dumb car ride games to help pass the time, Eddie controlled the music for most of the drive, and Robin had to go to the bathroom every hour until she fell asleep for most of the afternoon and evening. When the four of you made it to Denver around ten, you simply picked your rooms and then went to bed because of how tired you all were.
You woke up at some random time in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, and the loud creakiness of the wooden floors annoyed you and washed away most of your tiredness. When you noticed that it was a little after twelve, you went to Steve’s room, which was right across from yours. You gave his door a quick knock before walking in, the bright moonlight shining through the open curtain of one of the windows did enough to let you see him in bed. He was fast asleep, buried beneath the covers and softly snoring.
You lightly tapped his back to stir him awake and pulled the blanket off of his head a bit, which revealed his messy bedhead that you forced yourself not to laugh at.
Steve turned his head and looked up at you for a brief moment before letting out a soft, “Hey.”
You smiled at him. “Happy birthday, Stevie.”
You could tell that he was too tired to playfully roll his eyes at the nickname you had for him that usually only came out during moments like these or whenever you were drunk.
“Thanks,” He said instead, smiling back at you and letting out a small yawn.
You walked around to the other side of the bed and got in, pulling the blanket over your legs. “Also, I’m sorry, but I’m an idiot and forgot to pack your present, so you’ll get it when we get back home Monday night.”
He turned on his side to face you and rubbed his eyes. “Can I know what it is?”
You nodded. “It’s that denim jacket that you saw a few weeks ago at our usual thrift store. I convinced you not to buy it because I wanted to get it for you. I went back and bought it the next day, and I also put some pins on it that I thought you’d like.”
Steve gave you a small tired smile. “Nice, I knew that you actually liked the jacket.”
You laughed a bit. “I was honestly surprised that you didn’t immediately see through my lie.”
Steve didn’t say anything in response to that, and instead, you noticed his eyes slipping shut for a brief moment before he was looking at you in the darkness again. You smiled as you pulled the blanket off of you and got out of the bed.
“Okay, I’m gonna go. I’ll see you in the morning when we all go out for breakfast,” You told him, referring to the diner about ten minutes away that you had passed when you all were driving to the cabin and it looked fairly nice.
“You can stay if you want,” Steve said as he turned and watched you head toward the door, and you shook your head at his words.
“I know it’s only been a couple of hours, but I really like my bed,” You told him. It actually surprised you how easily you had found comfort in the full-sized bed. “So, goodnight and happy birthday again, Steven.”
You noticed his amused smile as he spoke. “No ‘Stevie’ this time around?”
“I wanted to spare you for a second.”
“That’s very considerate of you.”
“You’re welcome, Stevie,” You said with a nod and playful smile before you opened the door.
You closed it behind you and then headed across the hall to the room that was designated as yours for the weekend.
“Wait,” Hearing Steve’s voice at that moment surprised you; you hadn’t heard his door open again or the annoying creak of the floor.
You turned to look at him, dropping your hand from your doorknob, and even in the darkness of the hallway you could tell that he looked much more awake than when you had left him just moments ago.
Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What’s wrong?”
“I need to tell you something,” He said softly, and those words immediately made your mind travel back to that conversation you two had after playing basketball in the park.
“Is it what you’ve been holding out on talking to me about for the past few weeks?”
He gave you a small nod. “Yeah…”
During that conversation in his car all those weeks ago, he had said that what was going on with him was too hard to explain right then and you decided not to push him further on it because you knew that he’d tell you eventually.
You weren’t entirely sure why you suddenly felt worried about it all and what he was going to say to you in this moment; maybe it was because of the look on his face that was a solid mix between serious and nervous. “Okay. What is it?”
“I love you.”
The breath you let out was a mix between a laugh and sigh of relief because you were completely unfazed by his words. “Jesus, don’t scare me like that again. I love you too, Stevie.”
Was that all he had to tell you? That didn’t entirely make sense to you because it wasn’t like you two hadn’t said those words to each other a million times before. You expected him to laugh and smile along with you, but he only shook his head at first, which made you confused all over again.
“No,” He said, pushing a nervous hand through his messy hair. “I don’t mean it like how we’ve always meant it anymore. I’m… I’m in love with you.”
There were only a handful of times that you could say that your best friend had ever rendered you speechless; it was hard to completely stun you into silence when it came to him. Not much that Steve did could ever truly surprise you or throw you for a complete loop because you felt like you knew him well enough that most of his actions just made sense. The last time it happened was when he suggested that you two get Harold, he had never been a huge pet person so it genuinely surprised you when he was the one to come up with the idea.
And now you had another moment to add to the list; a moment that entirely topped all of the others.
“Oh.” It was the only word that came to your mind at that moment, and it was barely even a word, it was more so a sound. But, it was the only thing you could say. You didn’t understand how it was possible for your mind to be simultaneously empty and running a thousand miles a minute. “Oh.”
You could feel Steve’s eyes on you, but yours were fixed on the ground; your sock-covered feet and the dark wooden floors.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything,” He said, breaking the prevailing silence. And when you still couldn’t find any words to say in response to fill the quiet again, he started rambling. “This entire time, these past few weeks, I’ve been waiting for some sort of “perfect” moment to tell you, but nothing ever felt completely right. And then as you were leaving my room just now I realized that I don’t think that I was actually waiting for it to feel right to tell you— because, honestly, there were a bunch of moments where it did feel “right” enough. I was really just holding back because I was worried about what your reaction would be. And I don’t think there’d ever be a moment where I wasn’t at least a little scared or nervous to say it, so I finally decided to just do it now and tell you. But now, fuck, maybe I shouldn’t have said it.”
“No,” You told him, suddenly somehow finding your voice and finally allowing yourself to meet his eyes. “No, um, honesty is good. You should be, uh— You should be honest about everything. We’re always honest about everything, y’know? It’s good that you said it, I think? Right?”
You were certain that what you were saying didn’t make any sense; your mouth was moving much faster than your brain.
A confused look crossed his face. “Okay? Yeah?”
You dropped your gaze from his and turned around. “I’ll, uh, be right back. I just… I think I just need a second. I don’t know.”
You opened the door to your room and then stepped in, softly closing it behind you and leaving Steve on the other side. You let out a quick breath and leaned back against the door, shutting your eyes in the process, before sliding down it and sitting on the floor. It was cold and you could feel the goosebumps starting to rise on your legs that were only barely covered by your thin pajama shorts. But, the cold was surprisingly soothing, and focusing on that feeling helped clear your mind a bit. Slowly, your thoughts finally started making sense and your brain began moving somewhat normally again.
The sound of the floor creaking on the other side of the door let you know that Steve was sitting down and leaning back against it too. You wanted to say something to him, but it still felt impossible to find any words right then.
“I’m sorry,” You could hear his slightly muffled voice through the door. “I really didn’t want this to fuck things up between us, and now it has. And I’m sorry.”
“Things aren’t fucked up,” was what you immediately thought to say— it was actually the first coherent thought that came to your mind in the past few minutes— but, for some reason, it wouldn’t form on your lips.
Steve’s past words started playing on what seemed like a constant loop in your head.
I’m in love with you. I’m in love with you.
The only way you could view this situation, the only way you would allow yourself to view it, was logically. You weren’t considering your own feelings in this moment— whatever they were; you weren’t sure how you were feeling, and you actually refused to think about it right then.
“It’s not true, though,” You told him, making your voice loud enough so that he could hear you, even though it was hard to speak above a whisper.
“What?”
“It’s not true,” You said again and then let out a small sigh as you leaned your head back against the door. “You’re not in love with me.” The words felt so weird falling from your lips, so foreign. “You can’t be. Whatever you think you’re feeling now, it’ll blow over in a couple days or whatever.”
It was a thousand times easier having this conversation without having to look at him right then. You waited for him to agree with you, to maybe even let out a breath of a laugh as he said that you were right. Everything that happened in the past five minutes could become a moment that you two laughed at in a couple of weeks if he simply took it all back.
Remember when you told me that you were in love with me on your birthday? Yeah, that was kinda insane, right?
You actually couldn’t imagine playfully joking about this anytime soon. It would probably be the one thing between you two that would feel weird and awkward for a while— even more awkward than the moment when he accidentally walked in on you naked, and you accidentally did the same thing to him a few months later. But, just like those now unspoken of moments, this would blow over eventually too.
“No, it is true,” Steve said instead and the absolute certainty in his tone surprised you a bit. “That morning after you picked me up from the bar, it just hit me like a ton of bricks, and it hasn’t changed since. That day at the park when we played basketball, I was jealous that you liked that guy and wanted to get his number, and that’s why I was being kind of an asshole.” He let out a small sigh. “And I did think that maybe all of this would go away and ‘blow over’ too, but it hasn’t. Honestly, it’s only felt more real.”
You were quiet for a second, not knowing exactly how to respond to that at first. He was being a thousand percent honest— at this point, you knew that— but it was still just so hard to accept it all, to fully let yourself believe it. The thought of him wanting something more changed everything that you had been so sure of for the past almost ten years of friendship.
“Okay, very dumb question incoming, but you remember us meeting, right?”
“Yeah, of course,” Steve’s answer was immediate. “That cruise when we were ten. Our parents bumping into each other and meeting and then kind of forcing us to be friends, but we were both glad to hang out with each other instead of them, anyway.”
You nodded at his words even though he couldn’t see you, and felt yourself smiling as you started talking.
“That trip was our first memory together, and it’s definitely still one of my favorites. We went to the arcade onboard like every day— I beat you a bunch of times at air hockey, but you were way too good at pretty much everything else. And we snuck into that stupid “club” meant for teens almost every night and never got caught, but we were still nervous about getting caught the entire time we were there. From the beginning, it was so clear what we were to each other, y’know? I think by the end of that trip I knew that you were my best friend. I knew that I wanted you in my life forever,” You said, slightly rambling and mindlessly starting to play with the hem of the t-shirt you were wearing, picking at one of the loose strings. “Basically, I guess what I’m trying to say is, the lines were clearly drawn pretty much the first day we met, and they’re not supposed to change.”
Steve didn’t say anything, and it was then that you wished that you two were standing, or sitting, right in front of each other because you wanted to see his face and attempt to gauge whatever was going on in his mind right then.
“But, it did change,” Was his response after what felt like an hour’s worth of silence, and somehow it was hearing him say those four simple words that made you finally accept everything he had said in the past ten minutes. You finally found yourself believing him entirely.
“At least, for me, it has,” He added, and there was something about the softness of the statement that managed to break you. A wave of tears hit you so abruptly that you didn’t even get a chance to process why it was happening before your vision became blurry.
You sniffled and then sighed, haphazardly pushing away some of the stray tears that managed to slip out and attempting to swallow the apple-sized lump that now sat heavy in your throat. “Shit. I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I’m crying right now.”
“Can I come in?”
Instead of verbally answering Steve’s question, you stood up and opened the door and he didn’t waste a second to pull you into his arms; he had seen you cry enough times to know exactly what to do at this moment. You wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in his chest, letting your tears soak his dark gray t-shirt, unable to hold them back anymore.
“It’s okay. I promise it’s okay,” He said softly as one of his hands lightly stroked your back. “Let’s just forget this ever happened; forget I said anything. I’ll get over all of it. We can just add this to the list of things to take to the grave, okay?”
He took your crying as a rejection, your way of saying that you didn’t feel the same way without actually saying it to him.
You didn’t see it that way, though. You honestly didn’t know how you felt— during this entire conversation, you hadn’t considered yourself. It just felt like second nature to immediately try and protect what you two had and not let it change in the slightest.
When you pulled back and looked up at him, you didn’t really know what you were expecting to see, but he didn’t look sad or upset, he just looked concerned about you.
You weren’t even entirely sure why you were crying at that moment. Everything that had happened in the past barely ten minutes just felt so overwhelming and confusing.
You sniffled again and then found yourself nodding at Steve’s previous words. “Okay.”
“Okay,” He gave you a small nod back.
You glanced down at his t-shirt, quickly taking notice of the wet spot on it even in the near complete darkness you two were in. “Sorry about your shirt.”
He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”
You hugged him again, pushing up on your toes and letting your arms circle around his neck. He didn’t hesitate to hug you back and that only made you hold him tighter.
“Can you stay in here, please?” You asked, voice quiet but Steve still heard you.
You felt his nod in response and then moments later you and him were in your bed, not even bothering to get under the covers, and instead simply settling in a position that was completely familiar; your back against his chest, one of his arms wrapped around you and keeping you close, and heads against the pillow. You took hold of his hand and gave it a light squeeze, not completely knowing what you meant with the gesture.
Neither of you said anything. Not for one minute, and then not for five according to the clock you took notice of on the nightstand.
There was a lot more that you knew the two of you needed to talk about. What just happened couldn’t be something that was forgotten and simply “taken to the grave.” It didn’t feel right to do that.
However, you were falling asleep with your hand still intertwined with Steve’s before you could even try and think of something to say to him.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
When your eyes opened again, the first thing that you noticed was that it was still dark outside. You glanced at the nightstand, taking a look at the clock, and it surprised you to see that only two hours had passed; it felt like so much longer.
You could feel Steve’s steady breathing behind you and that let you know that he was still sleeping. You shifted around to face him, surprisingly not waking him in the process. Your eyes were adjusted to the darkness that surrounded you both so you could see him pretty clearly; eyes shut and lips slightly parted and hair still a messy pile of bedhead.
For the first time probably ever you became so acutely aware of the close proximity between you two. You were only a few breaths away from each other, his arm was still around your waist, and your legs became a tangle of limbs. None of this had ever fazed you before, but it felt a little different now.
But, it did change.
It actually physically hurt realizing how right Steve was, and you had to close your eyes as you let the words swallow you whole for a second.
There was still a part of you that wanted to not think about everything Steve had said— the I love you that meant so much more now— but it felt impossible to do that. It completely took over your thoughts; consumed them, really.
You thought about how it was damn near effortless to picture something more with him; a something more that now felt so obvious, and in a way, so inevitable. You could see it all so easily.
You thought about past moments that had been shoved away for the sake of protecting your friendship. Late night drunk and high conversations shared between you and Steve that were always supposed to be long forgotten. Moments where the line between friendship and something more was playfully toed but never fully crossed, moments where you two would almost talk about actually crossing that line, moments where the smallest part of you would think about it.
Those moments, and the feelings that came along with them, were never supposed to be remembered when morning rolled around, but you always remembered them. And instead of doing anything about it or entertaining those thoughts in the slightest, you simply buried it all down and pushed it away. You placed all of those feelings in a box deep down inside of you that was never supposed to be opened.
However, now with Steve’s burst of honesty, it was opened; and you honestly didn’t feel the urge to bury it and push it back down anymore. Instead, you let the feelings that would lead to completely uncharted territories between you and him wrap around you like a warm blanket and find a home in your heart.
You opened your eyes again and let your gaze fall on Steve. You slowly pushed one of your hands through his hair, knowing that that would gradually stir him awake.
His eyes opened and he only blinked at you for a second before mumbling out a quiet, “Hi.”
“Hi,” You said, matching his soft tone.
He gave you a curious look, and you knew that he was probably wondering why you woke him up. You simply stayed quiet for a moment, pulling your hand out of his hair and letting it find his cheek instead.
“I love you too,” You whispered, not breaking his gaze. “I’m in love with you too.”
Just for a second, there was a part of him that looked surprised hearing your words, but then he was smiling at you, the softest and sweetest smile that actually made your heart ache.
Before he could say anything, you kept going. “And I’m sorry. I wish this could’ve been my reaction from the moment you said it first. I wish it would’ve hit me the second you said it. Books and movies make this thing look so much easier, but it’s actually really fucking hard.”
“I know. That’s why it took me almost a month to tell you.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t see it.”
“I’ve become a really good actor. Might make it my career now,” Steve joked and you laughed at that.
He kept smiling at you and you smiled back. A comfortable silence took over as the two of you simply looked at each other, admiring one another in the darkness that you’d still be surrounded by for the next few hours. Your eyes flickered down to his lips for a brief moment and then met his gaze again. Out of all of the things that could’ve been said or done right then, it only felt right to close that last breath of distance between you two and finally do one of the few things that you had never done with one another.
You let your nose brush against his for a brief second before you tilted your head upward a little and let your lips meet his.
The kiss was chaste at first, Kindergarten-sweet, not much more than just a simple peck. But then Steve was quickly kissing you back, his hand squeezing your waist and pulling you impossibly closer to him, and your hand went from cupping his cheek to tangling within the hair at the nape of his neck. He deepened the kiss with a graze of his tongue against your bottom lip, which elicited the softest sound from you, and you were hit with the sudden thought that you never wanted this moment to end. You wanted to savor this first kiss, revel in it, pretend as if nothing else existed except for you and Steve and this moment that you wished you could drag out for minutes, hours, years.
In a way, it was a little confusing how even though this was completely new, it didn’t at all feel like it. Maybe there should’ve been at least a tiny bit of awkwardness laced within this moment, but the soft feel of Steve’s lips against yours felt familiar, like home, like it was something that should’ve happened a thousand years ago. It was so fucking right.
You slowly pulled away when you needed to catch your breath and softly dropped your forehead against his, eyes still shut. “Shit. Fuck.”
Steve let out a breath of a laugh that fanned right against your cheek. “I agree.”
You lifted your head and pressed a quick kiss against his nose before pulling back a bit, meeting his eyes, and giving him a small smile. “Hi.”
“Hi,” He said, smiling back and giving your waist a light squeeze. The warmth radiating from his touch made you wish that his hand was slipping past the hem of your t-shirt and actually touching your skin instead.
A part of you wanted to let out a small happy laugh at how things had so easily shifted. You were finally kissing the guy that you’d known since you were ten and since an irreplaceable friendship was forged on that weeklong cruise trip. Steve was still your best friend, that didn’t feel like it had changed at all, but that didn’t mean that things weren’t different now; better, in so many unexpected ways.
However, it also abruptly became a little scary— the thought of potentially losing everything you had with him if things ended badly.
That thought was why you had pushed all of your feelings away and never acknowledged them in the first place. There would always be that part of you that wanted to protect the friendship you two had.
“Promise,” You held out your pinky for him to take. “Promise that whatever happens, if this doesn’t work out somehow, we will not make it weird or grow distant or leave each other. I can’t lose you in my life. I need you, no matter what.”
He didn’t hesitate to link his pinky with yours as he nodded. “Promise.”
“And we should just keep all of this between us for now, maybe,” You said, the idea coming to you randomly but it made sense in your head; it felt like the logical thing to do. “Just in case.”
“Just in case?”
“Just in case we end up imploding immediately or something, I don’t know.”
You could tell that Steve couldn’t really see that happening— and in a way, neither could you— but at that moment he let himself agree with you, anyway. “Okay.”
Your lips found his again for a second before you shifted around and settled back in the position you two had fallen asleep in. Steve pulled you back against him, arm circling your waist, and you let out a sigh in contentment as he pressed the softest kiss against your neck.
A comforting silence began to linger and you broke it after a few minutes, hoping that Steve hadn't fallen asleep just yet.
“I’m really glad this is happening right now. Like, really, really glad. I love everything about this moment. And I love you. Like, a lot. And, yes, I know exactly how cheesy I sound right now."
His mouth brushed right against your ear and you could practically hear the smile in his voice as he spoke. “Yes, that was very cheesy. I loved it. And I love you too.”
You only grabbed his hand and pressed a soft kiss against it in response.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
“Okay, dingus, I know that you’re probably gonna hate me for saying this,” Robin started as she set her mug back on the table of the booth the four of you had been sitting in for the past twenty minutes. The cup looked way too close to the edge of the table, so you reached out and moved it over a bit. “But, I really need you to get a picture of you and your smiley face pancake.”
Eddie immediately laughed and nodded. “That’s a great idea.”
You turned and looked at Steve, smiling at him. “Please do it. It would be such a missed opportunity if that didn’t happen right now.”
He only rolled his eyes. “I hate all of you for telling the waitress that it’s my birthday.”
The moment you mentioned it to Carol after she asked the reason why you all were in Denver for the weekend, she smiled and said a “Happy Birthday” to Steve before taking your orders. And then when everything came out, she also handed him a pancake that had a whipped cream smiley face, two cherries for the eyes, and a candle in the middle as the nose.
Robin pulled the Polaroid camera out of her bag and pointed it at Steve. “Okay, hold up the plate and smile, birthday boy. God, I wish we had party hats right now.”
“I’m glad we don’t,” He said with another eye roll but still proceeded to hold up the plate and give her a quick annoyed smile.
When he put the plate back down, you stole one of the cherry eyes and then started on your waffle. The conversation shifted away from Steve and his adorable birthday pancake and went to talking about hitting the slopes in the afternoon. You had been in the middle of mentioning that the drive would only take about thirty minutes when you felt Steve’s hand find yours underneath the table and link it with his. The booth was small and you were already sitting shoulder to shoulder, so the action went completely unnoticed by your friends sitting across from you.
You and Steve had held hands countless times before, but it felt so much more significant in this moment because now the meaning behind it was so different— this was no longer just a friendly handhold. It was hard to fight how much you wanted to immediately smile at the subtle action, but you kept your face straight and managed to finish out your thought.
You fought the sudden urge you had to lean your head against his shoulder or kiss his cheek, and instead grabbed your mug with your free hand and took a sip of your coffee. You tried your hardest to pay attention to the conversation taking place at the table— Robin talking about how she was nervous about skiing for the first time, and Eddie saying that yes she probably would be bad at it. However, all you could really focus on was Steve; his hand intertwined with yours and the warmth radiating from the subtle touch.
You felt equivalent to a lovesick teenager with a crush that actually wasn’t a crush at all because that word wasn’t enough to fully describe how you felt about him. It would be hard keeping this a secret for the time being, and the smallest part of you questioned why you even proposed that idea. But, for the most part, you still agreed with your “just in case” reasoning. If exploring this uncharted territory with Steve somehow ended up becoming the worst idea ever, it would be good that you didn’t tell anyone about it because you two could go back to being just friends without anyone else in the group knowing what happened.
You hated thinking like that— that it all would or could end, that one or both of you would come to realize that this actually wasn’t a good idea. But, it felt too hard not to think about it for at least a split second.
Steve gave your hand a light squeeze, it felt both comforting and questioning; maybe he could tell you were getting so deep into your head about something.
“Feel free to steal the other cherry,” He told you. Your eyes met his and he gave you a look that said everything he really wanted to tell you at that moment but couldn’t, and you let your nonsensical worries wash away for the time being with that reassuring look.
You placed your coffee mug down and then grabbed the second cherry from his plate, smiling at him as you did so. “Thanks.”
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
let me know ur thoughts<333
(requests are open for stuff you wanna see in the universe/series!🫶🏾)
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