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something-fanfiction-ie · 4 years

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Guardian Angel

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of abuse of kidnapping. Again, details of murder/crime scenes, curse words.

A/N: Hello, hello, hello! So, again, I find myself having to cut this in half. I originally planned on the team getting to you at this point in the story but I got a little carried away. I’ve been thinking about this series so much that it’s ridiculous. Low-key wish I’d been able to direct a CM episode like this. The things I could do with a camera... solely focused on Matthew for a 45 minute episode. Heh. Anyways, remember to like, comment, reblog, send me asks, and basically do the job of producing serotonin for me like my brain is supposed to do naturally. Thank you so much for sticking around and I’ll be sure to get the next part out to you ASAP!

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[ Part One | Part Two | Part Three ]

It was hours later before Spencer felt the incessant buzzing of his phone against his thigh.

Immediately annoyed and already tired of the day, he didn’t even bother to look at the caller ID before sending it straight to voicemail. Blindly, he rummaged around in the bottom of his satchel for his keys. Spots danced across the back of his left eyelid as he tried to rub the exhaustion away.

Everything about today had been awful. From finding out the girl of his dreams, who he had only known for three weeks, mind you, could be a serial killer to the fact that, without you, nothing made any sense in this case. Even if you weren’t the unsub, you were an integral piece to finding out who was.

After you had left the office earlier this afternoon, Spencer had made it his mission to investigate every other person connected to you. He’d even gone so far as to track down your father to the other side of the globe, having somehow made his way to Europe in order to stay out of you and your mother’s lives.

Try as he might, every possible lead led to a brick wall spray painted to say, ‘She’s the killer.’ Having spent most of the day trying to convince himself that you were the unsub, he was tired of fighting his instincts for fear of compromising himself. Something wasn’t right in this investigation and he just couldn’t figure out what it was.

When his phone started to buzz again as he pushed the key into the key hole, he couldn’t help the sudden surge of anger that seemed to take over his body. Hastily yanking one hand from the door, he reaches into his pocket and presses the answering button.

“Hello, this is Dr. Reid.” His tone is harsh and mechanically echoes back into his ear. Whoever is on the other side of the line is quiet for one second, then two. For five seconds no one responds and Spencer has the time to balance the phone between his cheek and his shoulder so that he could go about removing his bag and shuffling into his car.

“You really thought it was her, didn’t you, Dr. Reid?” Although the natural pitch of the voice suggests a woman, or maybe even a young boy, there is an underlying tone that suggests that it’s a man. Spencer is frozen in place, his bag sitting in the passenger seat of his car, one hand on the inside of the door and the other on the steering wheel.

Slowly, he reaches up to relieve his shoulder from the duty of holding his phone, his long fingers curling around the device. His eyes squinted, the way they usually did when he was thinking. With his other hand, nervously, he reaches up to push away a curl that has escaped from behind his ear.

“Who is this?” He regrets the question the moment it falls from his lips. Someone who has gone the painstaking lengths that this man has gone through to keep himself out of the investigation would not simply reveal his identity when no one even had a suspicion of him.

“Wrong question, Doctor. Try again.” Swallowing past the lump that has started to form in his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the action, Spencer stretches back across the driver seat of his car to grab his bag. The leather strap digs into the palm of his hand and he drags it toward him, feeling like he was stuck on rewind as he goes about undoing everything he’d just done.

“What do you want?” The click of the door lock is the only sound for three seconds before the man responds again, a sadistic excitement escalating the pitch of his voice.

“Out of life? From a specific restaurant? Be specific in your questioning, Doctor.” He laughs a little breathlessly. In the moments where he doesn’t talk, Spencer strains to hear anything that could help him, but he can’t even hear the guy breathe let alone identify background noise.

“What is your purpose in calling me?” Getting back into the building is a hassle while on the phone, but he manages it nonetheless. There would be no sleeping tonight after a call like this. The elevator button glows a pale yellow as Spencer stabs it with one of his long fingers. For now they are steady, his hands that is, but the full effect of what is happening and what it means hasn’t actually hit him full force yet.

“To inform you of two things; the first being that you are wrong. I killed all those people and I killed them because of you.” The breath in his throat hitches. All of his worst dreams and nightmares have come crawling out of the woodworking and across his skin like thousands of tiny spiders.

“The second being that I’ll be hanging out with our mutual friend for a while, so you may not see her for a little bit.” There is a creaking of a door before he hears you. Your voice is already hoarse from screaming and the sound of restraints clacking against a concrete flooring puts the picture of you in a dungeon deep into his head.

“Spencer?! Spencer his name i-” The sound of a hand making contact with skin makes Spencer’ blood boil with rage.

Curling into the corner of the elevator, hunching his shoulders into himself and covering an ear with the palm of his opposite hand, Spencer speaks slowly and deliberately into the speaker.

“Do not touch her.” The man on the line chuckles, reaching out to run a finger along the edge of your jawline. You snatch your head away, your slapped cheek already turning pink, and push back against the wall.

“I’m afraid it’s already too late for that. Happy hunting.” The doors of the elevator open as soon as the line goes dead. Everything in Spencer kicks into overdrive, his mind flying so fast that he could barely manage to keep up with it himself.

Hotch, ready to leave for the day, stands in the opening. The tired look in eyes only grows when he sees the young profiler standing in his way, his face drained of blood and his phone still desperately clutched to his ear.

“What’s happened?”

Not so far away, the door to the empty, concrete basement shuts you in by yourself. Around your ankle is a handcuff attached to a car chain that is anchored to the floor. If you crawl to it, dragging your injured leg behind you, you can see the shoddy soldering done to create this makeshift dungeon.

In the corner is a mattress with a thin cotton blanket probably from dollar general or somewhere equally as cheap. A lamp sits beside it, the wooden bottom nailed into the floor to keep you from using it as a weapon. The only other thing is a wooden chair that is planced just below a high rectangle window. A couple of desperate shakes against the leg confirms that it is also nailed to the floor.

With nothing of use, save maybe the blanket, you go about taking a collection of your injuries.

The top of your head is leaking a steady stream of blood that drips down the side of your face and sticks your hair to your cheek. The sight of so much blood coming from your head is alarming at first, but just as quickly as you started to panic, you remember that head wounds can bleed quite a lot. No matter how small.

On the opposite side as your head injury is a deep cut on your cheekbone. It has stopped bleeding, dry blood clogged around the torn skin and flaking along your cheek when you run your finger over it.

Your thigh is a different issue all together, the knife wound throbbing with pain no matter how you shift or apply pressure. You’ve coated your hands in gloves made of your own blood trying to staunch the bleeding, hissing and whimpering the whole time.

All three injuries had happened in a matter of minutes, starting with the knife to your thigh.

You drove for an hour and a half toward nowhere in particular, only pulling off the road when the gun jammed into your neck and Harvey snapped at you from the back.

“Turn right on the dirt road.” The tiny car bumped and bounced around the dirt and gravel, driving straight for another fifteen minutes. You were surrounded by nothing but trees and hills and although you’d been familiar with the area where you’d pulled off the road, you weren’t sure where you were.

When the gun jammed back into your neck and Harvey screamed for you to stop, you slammed so hard on the brakes that he rocked forward and hit his head on the back of the passenger seat. The crunch of his breaking nose was sickening to your ears, but the bite of the seat belt digging into your collarbone and neck was enough to keep you from vomiting.

“You bitch!” He cried, the hand not holding a gun to your neck flew up to catch the blood that fell from his nose. Despite his attempts, a drop or two still managed to fall to the floor and soak into the fabric. His DNA would be on this car, you could only hope that he was in some sort of system. Even now, after everything you’d been through today, you still trusted the team of FBI Agents to find you before it was too late.

The safety on the gun made a clicking noise, your entire body freezing in place as you looked at everything around you. You were in a big dirt field, trees surrounding a patch of land that may have once been the grounds for a home. Now, only your car, a red SUV, and red soil were the only things there to see.

Harvey moved around in the back seat, you could see him in your rear view mirror as he pulled tissues from his pocket and shoved them into his broken nose. When he was finished he pulled out a pocket knife. His eyes were two beady slits of black as he met your gaze in the mirror.

“We’re going to get out of this car, and get into that car right over there. I’ll get in the driver’s seat, and you get in the trunk. Understood?” Sweat slicked your hair to your temples as you shook your head, your grip on the steering wheel so tight that your fingertips had started to tingle.

“You aren’t a good shot, Harvey. The moment we get out of this car, I’ll run.” The knife in his hand popped to attention at your words, gleaming in the sunlight. Somehow, it was only four o’clock in the afternoon and you had already been through hell.

“You won’t be able to.” He said, his hand shooting forward and sinking into your leg. Through the shock of it all, you’d barely felt it even after he pulled the bloody knife back and flipped it shut. You gaped at the wound, watching as the blood seeped out, soaked into your pants, and smeared onto the leather covering of your seat.

The back door opened, the car still alive and thrumming underneath you as he hurried over to your side of the car. You didn’t think, you just acted, throwing the car out of park and letting the adrenaline pumping through your veins mask the pain it caused you to slam on the gas.

Maybe you would have made it, drove out of here and been able to make it to a hospital before you bled out in your own car, but it had been raining nearly nonstop for three weeks and your car was not made to go fast in mud. Your tires spun long enough for Harvey to throw your door open and slam the butt of his gun into your head, causing your face to slam into the steering wheel and render you unconscious.

By the time you came back to yourself, Harvey had been carrying you down the steps and into a basement or cellar of some kind. You had no idea where you were or how long you had been out, only that your entire body was sore and cold.

“Ah, you’re awake. Good. I wanted to apologize about earlier, you just made me a little angry. But we’re better now. I even took those bloody clothes off you. I’ve got your room made up for you and if you’re good, I might let you talk to a friend of ours.” His tone is cheerful, his dark eyes complimenting the dark bags underneath them.

Harvey had been in several of your classes when you went to Georgetown, a friendly face amongst all the older kids who used to sneer at you when you tried to do anything. You wouldn’t actually say you were friends, just two people who were kind to each other. Later, once you parted ways after graduation, he became the personal assistant of your agent. He told you he was just trying to make ends meet while he was going back to school for his masters. It was such a surprise to see you again!

Then last month he quit after the death of his mother, thanking your agent for the experience and moving back to whatever town it was he used to lived in that you never bothered to ask about. Agents have multiple clients, yours was no exception, so you thought nothing of the change in personal assistants based solely on the fact that you barely noticed. Her life didn’t revolve around you and yours didn’t revolve around her.

But now, locked in a basement wearing nothing but your underwear and a tank top, blood soaking through a bandage around your thigh, with the really cute man you’d based a character on believing that you were a serial killer, you wish you’d noticed him more.

...

Garcia was the one to suggest looking at the security footage of the parking lot. She’d been clacking away on her tablet and trying to not seem disappointed about being dragged back to the BAU so quickly, when someone asked where you would have gone from here.

“What if he took her from here?” Everyone had looked at her with varying degrees of peculiar looks. Someone being kidnapped from the parking lot of a building full of FBI Agents? It would be comical if kidnappings weren’t a serious issue. Ironic. That’s the word Penelope was looking for. It was ironic.

“I mean, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to look at the security footage but her lawyer walked her to her car, it was broad daylight. What are the-” Prentiss’ mouth snaps shut and her lips purse just a little when Penelope brings up the video on the big screen.

Just thirty minutes before you walk outside, a small and stocky figure jimmies open your back door and slides in. He must slide to the passenger side of the backseat because he disappears from view. While he isn’t dressed in an extremely unusual manner, the hat and the black hoodie he is wearing help to hide his identity from the camera hanging over him.

Fast forward thirty minutes and all eyes trained to you as you drop your keys and bend to pick them up. Guilt hits every single member on the team, Spencer probably more than the rest, when they watch your head drop into your hands once you’re in the confines of your car.

An arm extends across the backseat, coming into view of the camera as the unsub presses a gun into your neck. In a matter of fourty-five seconds, you start the car and pull out of the parking spot.

“So we can rule out Jeremy.” Spencer says plainly, shuffling the papers in front of him as he thinks. Across the table Hotch nods his head in agreement. Jeremy was tall, maybe an inch shorter than Spencer, and he while he had an athletic build it was more lean muscle than the wide and stocky build the unsub had.

Penelope is quick to gather her things and head for her office, already planning on trying to follow your path through traffic cameras. It would be a grueling process, but it was the least she could do after digging through your life to, unintentionally, frame you for eight murders you didn’t commit.

“We interviewed everyone she has a connection to, in state or not. She’s an extremely low-risk victim, her circles don’t run that big.” Morgan has his own tablet pulled into his lap and he tilts his chair this way and that. A coin weaves in and out of his fingers and his forehead wrinkles as he goes over the list in his mind.

“Then we’ve already talked to our unsub, we just have to figure out which one it was.”

The first names to go are those out of state; your mother, your father, your best friend, and a handful of people you were connected to through the publishing firm. While the remaining names are few in numbers, it still puts Spencer on edge. They didn’t have the kind of time to be wasting energy of persons of interest, they needed one name identifying their unsub.

Nevertheless, the names are split amongst the group of profilers who work tirelessly through the night. The sun soon rises and glares through the window of the BAU conference room, putting Spencer Reid right into it’s spotlight.

There are bags under his eyes, eyes that take longer to open every time he blinks. He’s read the same paragraph eight different times, his cheek perched against the heel of his palm and his elbow propped on the tabletop. When he pushes back from the table, taking the file with him as he tries to walk away the exhaustion, it isn’t for the first time that night.

All he can think about is that final look you gave him as you walked out the door. It was a look of complete and utter betrayal, like you’d been trying to convince yourself that he was somehow oblivious in your being accused of the murders and seeing him there had been a punch of truth in the gut. He’d gone forward when you stumbled, reflexively reaching out to steady you on your feet before his mind could process the action.

Spencer has been doing that since he met you, trying to protect you like he was a giant ball of bubble wrap around you. He’d done it that day in the bookstore, throwing all precautions to the wind when he held the back of your head to keep you from hitting that bookshelf. He’s done it several times at a coffee shop you both enjoy visiting on his days off, physically maneuvering your body when he realizes that your current trajectory will cause you to ram your hip into a table corner.

One time, he’d been walking with you across the street when a man on a bicycle had come flying out of nowhere. You’d been just a step in front of him, your head tilted over your shoulder and your hands flying around with animation as you told him a story. Truly, he wasn’t sure how he knew to reach out and grab your shoulders, you have a way of telling stories that makes the entire world fall away. Yet, as if he was Spider-Man or something, every cell in his body suddenly cried out and he didn’t hesitate in pulling you back.

The force Spencer used to pull your body into his chest had sent you both tumbling to the sidewalk behind you.

“Are you okay?” You’d said, turning so that you were hovering over him with the sun framing you like a halo around your head. Surely you could feel the rapid escalation of his heartbeat with the way you tenderly place one of your small hands over his chest.

In the end he had to pull you to the side of the busy street to put a band-aid on your elbow where it had hit the concrete. It had been in the bottom of your bag and it had Scooby-Doo on it.

Despite his eidetic memory, some moments always manage to fade a little more than others. Some moments stick out more, like when you had reached out to smooth a stray curl away from his face. Your fingers were featherlight against his temple, your head tilted just a little to the side, and a soft smile stretched your lips.

“You’re my guardian angel.”

Some guardian angel he was, accusing you of murder on eight accounts and then letting you be kidnapped by someone who had no qualms about slapping you. God only knows what else he was comfortable with.

“I’ve got a lead!” Garcia burst into the room, her chest heaving as she sent videos and pictures to the screen for everyone to see. Spencer couldn’t see her face as she bent over her tablet, punching in information and instructions, but he nearly peppered it with kisses when she started to explain what they were all seeing.

“I managed to track (Y/N) to a little town about and hour and a half away when she, probably on purpose, ran a red light just in front of a gas station.” The video of your car creeping through a four-way traffic light until it turned red and captured you on camera was time stamped for yesterday afternoon around four o’clock.

“If you look closely, she turns onto a dirt road just a few seconds later,” Sure enough, every eye in the room watches as your car disappears behind a cluster of trees across from the BP on the left side of the video. “Satellite pictures show that little dirt road leads to one house that burned down a year ago.”

Mouths open, cogs turns, but Penelope Garcia once again proves her intelligence when she merely waves one hand in their direction and uses the other hand to pull up several documents and articles.

“Don’t sweat it. There’s no connection at all. Belonged to a Martin and Elisa Lewis back in the fifties before it was abandoned in the seventies. It was a local haunt where teenagers went to smoke, get drunk, have parties, and do the crazy and reckless things teenagers love to do. One of these reckless things led to a fire and burned the place down. But what’s important is what leaves this place fourty-eight minutes and twenty seconds after (Y/N)’s car enters.”

The video jumps forward in time, resuming as a red SUV pulls off the road and comes back for the stoplight. They can’t manage to get a license plate, the car being recently purchased by the unsub and the paper temporary being stuck to the inside of a tinted window, and they don’t manage to get a good image of the unsub driving. It feels, for a quarter of a second, as if there is no lead at all, until Spencer jumps to his feet.

“We need to see if her car is still there.”

The hour and a half drive takes fifty minutes with their lights on, mud kicking up beneath their tires as they pull into the empty lot. Your car sits abandoned in the middle, your back tires sunk into a pile of mud. The mass collection of blood on your driver’s seat makes Spencer nauseas. Rossi gives him a reassuring pat on the back.

It does nothing for Spencer’s nerves. He is truly the worst guardian angel ever.

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #criminal mind imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds self insert

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statusquoergo · 5 years

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Part II

Louis takes a detour from the celebratory drinking to stop by Dr. Lipschitz’s office and ask him to officiate his wedding. (Since when is he ordained?)

Though he admits that he’ll almost certainly need more therapy in the future, he feels he’s made enormous progress and is “ready to have [Lipschitz] as a friend.” (Not that we couldn’t have figured this out during the whole Paula debacle in Season 7, but for what it’s worth, Suits does not know how psychiatry works. Patients don’t graduate to “friend status” and move up to the next tier of MD for harder therapy or more drugs or whatever; the relationship starts professional and that’s generally how it’s supposed to stay.) Lipschitz puts up a little token resistance and quickly capitulates, which is good news for Louis since the very next scene is his wedding, and if Lipschitz hadn’t agreed, I’m not sure they would’ve been able to find someone to fill in on such short notice.

So the wedding! Louis is predictably decked out in a morning coat and top hat, complete with walking stick, as he freaks out over the fact that Sheila’s sister, the only member of the wedding party other than Harvey, is nowhere to be found, but freaks out more over the fact that Harvey looks better than him, even though he’s wearing “just a regular tux.” Donna pops in to inform Louis that Harvey was trying to distract him to keep him from panicking when she tells him that Sheila’s sister is stuck on the LIE, but never fear, Donna’s filling in. What a convenient opportunity for Harvey and Donna to walk down the aisle so Harvey can casually warn her not to “get any ideas about [them] doing this anytime soon.” (Aren’t they already engaged?) Lipschitz’s ceremony is all about how perfect Louis and Sheila are for one another, naturally, but Sheila has to interrupt when her water breaks; fortunately, Louis “didn’t want to leave anything to chance” and has an ambulance on standby, so they rush the vows, exchange their rings, and hustle off to the hospital ASAP.

Despite the absence of a bride and groom, all the wedding guests decide to…hang out at the venue, not really doing anything. I’m not quite sure what they’re waiting for, but Mike swings by to ask Harvey if there’s been any word from Louis (Harvey doesn’t know, as he would “rather call anybody else about anything else”) and Donna clarifies that the guests are loitering about because “[they] all just don’t know what to do.” (Leave, maybe?) To overcome the weirdness of “[having] nothing to celebrate,” Harvey turns to Donna to declare that “whether [he] knew it or not, [he’s] wanted to marry [her] from the second he met [her],” so how about they get married “right here, right now.”

Seriously what is it with this show and couples insisting they’ve been absolutely perfect for one another right from the start? For one thing, it’s some kind of bullshit retconning, and for another, I don’t know about you, but I have a lot more respect for a couple that’s gone through some stuff together and actively fallen in love over time. The weird thing is that Mike and Rachel, at least, did seem to actually do that, more or less, but then they doubled back in the wedding vows with that whole “from the first second I met you, I knew I wanted to be here with you someday” thing; are couples in Suits-land not allowed to marry unless they’ve always been meant for each other? Is everyone repenting for the original sin of Harvey’s parents’ divorce?

Well, anyway, Donna blusters that their families aren’t here (including, I assume, that mysterious emotionally manipulative older sister of hers who was brought up once and never again) and she doesn’t have a dress and they don’t have rings, and Harvey says that they can do it again for their families but he’s “wasted too much time” and “[doesn’t] want to waste another second.” The dress she’s wearing now is actually quite pretty, and Harvey already has the ring his mother mailed him (and she “can find one for [him],” somehow, which she does, with zero explanation), so she agrees, and he announces to this group of mostly strangers that “[he and Donna] are getting married.” Mike would offer to officiate “but [he’s] not licensed, and [he] just [doesn’t] think they want to open up that can of worms again” and I think this horse has been beaten to death quite enough, so if we could just move along to any other form of humor, that would be great. (Although speaking of licenses, Harvey and Donna don’t have one, so I get that this is supposed to be spontaneous and romantic and everything, but as for that whole “I now pronounce you man and wife” bit… That’s really more wishful thinking than, like. Reality.)

Louis and Sheila finally arrive at the hospital only to learn that there aren’t any rooms available at the moment, but that’s fine because totally out of nowhere and after about three seconds of hands-off observation, the doctors have determined that “there are some complications” and they need Louis’s permission to get her into surgery absolutely right now. He gives it, of course, and man, if I thought this show went out of its way to manufacture tension before, this a whole new level. This is a new building altogether, this is an entire fucking tension estate.

Over a montage of Louis in distress (in a hospital that seems weirdly vacant to “[not] have any rooms at the moment”), Harvey, standing on the dais sans any form of wedding party whatsoever even though Mike is right there, makes a truly morbid little speech about loss and death before turning to Donna and telling her “[he] kept [his] feelings inside for so long because [he] was afraid. But when [he] finally got good news, that's when [he] knew [she was his] everything.” (Ignoring the repetition of that bullshit about keeping his true feelings inside, I would hardly call Robert’s disbarment “good news”; in fact, at the time, Harvey specifically said that “losing Robert kind of takes the charm off the victory” [s08e16].) Donna responds over another hospital montage by further contemplating on mortality, and the fact that people search for love from the moment they’re born, in a speech that sounds like it was written with Louis’s situation in mind a lot more than hers and Harvey’s and that wraps up just in time for a remarkably put-together doctor to show up in the (suspiciously empty) room Louis is pacing to inform him that “both mother and daughter are doing fine.” Well, I guess those complications weren’t too complicated after all, whatever the hell they were. Donna concludes her vows by telling Harvey that he makes her happy; in fact, “without [him, she’s] empty,” and like I get that they’re gunning it with the whole “meant to be together forever” angle, but for god’s sake, this isn’t a soulmate AU, these people need to be able to function on their own and they need to be free to have lives separate from one another.

For some reason, Lipschitz uses their full names in leading the vows, which isn’t a big deal but seems weird to me and kind of reinforces the fact that Lipschitz doesn’t exactly know them and might not be the best choice for their officiant; anyway as soon as that’s taken care of, Robert announces that “to add to the good news, [he] just heard from Louis” that “he’s the proud father of a beautiful baby girl.” I’m not sure whether to be more annoyed at Robert for checking his messages literally in the middle of the wedding or confused that he’s the one Louis chose to notify, but no matter; Donna and Harvey will go see Louis later, “but right now, [Harvey wants] to dance with [his] wife,” which they do as everyone else hangs around and watches this couple they probably don’t know and it’s totally not awkward at all.

Sheila’s “still in recovery,” but a nurse brings the baby out to whatever room Louis is chilling in just in time for Harvey and Donna to show up and congratulate him. Oh and incidentally they’re moving to Seattle to work with Mike and Rachel, which is how Harvey got rid of Faye. (Alright, not Iceland, but I was close.) Louis panics that Harvey’s “never wanted to play in the B leagues,” but Harvey, in a massively delayed response to Mike’s accusation that he’s lost himself, explains that “if there’s one thing Faye did for [him], it’s remind [him] of who [he is].” Specifically that he “[likes] crossing lines” and “playing in the grey,” and I’m not totally clear on how he did this, but apparently “Mike showed [him he wants] to do it for the good guys for a change.” Louis still isn’t ready to let them go, but Donna, who seems to have somehow gotten it into her head that this entire series has secretly been about Louis’s journey of self-discovery all along, says that while “[they’d] be there for as long as [he] needed [them, he doesn’t] need [them] anymore. And no matter where [they] are, [they’ll] always be [his] family.” They wrap it all up with a group hug, because apparently that’s a thing Harvey does now.

The next day, Samantha calls Robert to inform him that her new office is Faye’s old office, which is actually Robert’s old office; he congratulates her, and intentional or not, this really doubles down on the whole Samantha-as-Harvey parallel, being that Robert’s old office is actually Mike’s old office, which is actually Harvey’s old office. Then Louis comes in to ask her to “be [his] Harvey,” and she can’t do that but “[she] can be [his] Samantha,” so maybe it’s not so much Samantha-as-Harvey as it is Samantha replacing Harvey, which feels…less fun. She does make Louis promise not to change the firm’s name for at least five years, though, so I’ve gotta give her props for that. Then Donna finds Harvey looking out over the bullpen and contemplating that this is where it all started, but yes he’s sure he wants to go through with it, which is good “‘cause [his] new boss called” and he “wants to have a word.”

Alright, here we go. Mike is waiting in Harvey’s office, looking out the window in a very Harvey-esque pose as the man himself arrives to enquire as to what Mike is still doing there. Mike replies that though Harvey “may be moving to Seattle, [he doesn’t] have a job yet,” and if Mike doesn’t interview him, “how [is he] gonna know what [he’s] getting?” Harvey flubs the first line by saying that Mike is getting “a guy who doesn’t like to hang out with people that aren’t that bright” (rather than “a guy who likes to hang out” with such people), but they carry on with a very sweet recreation of the pilot interview, right up until the point that Harvey admits that if Mike quizzed him from the Barbri handbook, “[he] wouldn’t know a thing.” Though Harvey neglected to bring “a briefcase full of weed,” he does “know a guy,” and Mike hires him on the spot; Harvey turns down his invitation to “go see [the coffee cart guy] for old times’ sake,” but he promises to “school those Harvard douches, and become the best lawyer [Mike’s] ever seen,” and Mike will take that but “[he’s] got to lose the fat tie.” Though I’m furious that we were denied a hug in favor of a fist bump, this is still super cute, especially if I don’t dwell on what it means that even after all this time, Harvey remembers their very first conversation (almost) verbatim.

Tying up the last remaining loose ends, Louis, Alex, and Samantha summon Katrina to Louis’s office to offer her a name partnership because “if it weren’t for [her], none of [them] would be [there] right now,” and also the firm’s new name is already up on the wall and Louis “agreed not to change it again for five years” and “got [her] new business cards” so her refusal “would be a really big pain in the ass,” and I mean how does a person say no to a request like that?

Donna finds Harvey in his office and asks if he’s ready to go home, but he needs a little more time to reflect before the place gets packed up tomorrow; she starts to leave, but he calls her back to tell her that he “couldn’t have done any of this without [her].” “Any of what?” she asks, which sounds to me like fishing, but he obliges by replying: “Everything.” There you have it, Donna’s been the glue holding the team together all along. Anyway she meets Louis at the elevators and they ride down together holding hands, which, intentional or not, is a nice last little Lonna shout out.

The episode ends with a series of flashbacks presented in nothing even approaching chronological order, closing out with “Life is like this. And I like this” (Marvey), Mike walking out of Danbury as Rachel gets out of the car to meet him (Machel), and Harvey and Donna hooking up at the end of Season 8 (Darvey), so that’s a fairly respectful acknowledgment of the fanbase, if you look at it through the right lens. The very last shot is Harvey walking to the elevators, smashing to a title card that reads: “Dedicated to The Suits Family” (I don’t know about you, but I’m definitely the weird cousin), and…ta da! Congratulations, we made it to the end of the series!

Hooray!

#suits usa #s09e10 #season 9 #analysis

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