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masterwords · 2 years

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the things that make up a life (part two)

Summary: Hotch helps Jessica move Roy into her apartment. It doesn't go well, and he's supposed to fly to Chicago to celebrate Fran's birthday afterward. (Coda to 10x20 & 10x21 because combining them makes for pain.)

Warnings: a lot of angst, depression, trauma from Scratch, mention of suicidal thoughts...

Pairings: Hotch/Morgan

Words: 2.5k

Notes: Remember how I said two parts? I meant three. I MEANT THREE. I'm still not sorry. The entire thing is written but I didn't have time to edit the whole thing tonight. I said I was going to post more tonight so I broke it up to keep part of my promise anyway. Part Three will be it, and it will be this weekend in between baseball madness.

Read on AO3: the things that make up a life

The walk through the airport was calming in some strange way. The anonymity of it, eyes scanning the crowd and never fully landing on him. It would all change the minute they reached cruising altitude, his head was going to pound mercilessly for the duration of the flight and there was nothing he could do about that.

It was funny, as he stood there waiting for them to acknowledge that yes, they could bump his flight up, yes, they did have room, they also offered him an upgrade to first class. Under normal circumstances he would pass, a flight this short really made very little difference, but the luxury of not being stuffed quite so close together with that many other people sounded like the breather he needed. For once, there was no buyer's remorse on indulgence. His headache had settled back into a dull throb in his temples, the kind he could look past, and he hoped that it was a good sign. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

The flight was short, but with the way his mind turned to mush and regrouped almost continually over the worst parts of the morning, it felt like hours. It wasn't what Roy said, he'd made his peace with Roy's harsh words already, had a whole week to chew on those and let them fester inside of him. They were a ball of rot in his belly, but they weren't gathering strength, they'd done their harm. The photo album, his face being scrubbed from memories, Sean being there and him being a phantom. Pictures being folded to keep him from them, Haley's beaming smile beside a ghost. An empty page. It was the way a jilted ex would doctor photos to erase memories. The way a teenager might act, not a grown man. Jessica's words, surprising as they were, married easily with the photos. They made sense there, tied it all into a neat little package.

He considered calling Derek from the airport, seeing if he'd come and pick him up. The idea of walking outside to wait in the rain to hail a cab was unpleasant, but he thought of the look of surprise on Derek's face, on Jack's face, if he showed up a day early and it was a bright spot he couldn't focus past. Outside he hobbled, his sore muscles stiff, especially in his lower back. A row of bright yellow and white cabs smiled at him, he could take his pick and it was the second bright spot in his otherwise stormy day. Once inside, he tucked himself around his small leather bag and stared out the window at the airport they were slowly curling around and leaving behind. Derek had all of the rest of their clothes with him already and he thought now seemed like a fine time to finally comfortably take something for the pain in his head that had, as predicted, come screaming back at him the moment the plane went above the clouds. The pain would dull to a low throb right around the time he was dropped off, the fog settling in long after he was safety inside Fran Morgan's home. He could afford the luxury, he told himself, happy to be saddled with one pain he had some control over.

He stood on the stoop and collected himself. There was a jumble of thoughts all vying for center stage, and all he really wanted was a few blissful moments to focus on the surprise of him showing up a full day early. The fog was starting to creep into his head, a fine mist settling over everything.

The photo of Sean floated through his mind again, the way he looked so like Jack. He stood there on the stoop for a little too long, attempting to catch his breath. To make peace with his morning and let it go, at least for now, because this was not about him. They were there to celebrate Fran's birthday, and she deserved to have a better version of him than the one that currently stood on her porch. Without thinking, he rang the doorbell and waited. It didn't take long before the door was flung open to reveal Fran's smiling face, Derek attempting to look surprised right behind her. She nearly bowled him over, wrapping him in a hug. It was completely silent, like she could read some dark tale in his eyes and didn't dare acknowledge it. Her hug pulled him into the moment, spread warmth through his cold lungs. Her arms around him made him forget the pulse in his forehead for one blissful moment.

Derek approached next, wrapping him in a too tight hug. It reeked of desperation, and Aaron had the briefest suspicion that Jessica had called him and warned him. It didn't matter. He snaked his arms around Aaron's sagging shoulders, up high, pressing his nose against Aaron's temple and breathed him in deep. There was the smell of shampoo still lingering beneath sweat and dust, the smell of a man who worked hard all morning and was bone tired.

“You're early,” Derek whispered. He could feel the way Aaron's muscles coiled beneath him, his shallow labored breaths coming at irregular and pained intervals. He didn't have all of the information, but he was vaguely aware of what had happened and how precariously they were balanced on the edge of some deep pit. Aaron was clawing desperately at the sides of the cliff, trying to keep hold of something, to not fall to pieces. Fran deserved better, Jack shouldn't see it, Derek's family didn't need his baggage and yet something about Derek's arms around him just ruined his ability to hold it together. The safety in it was too much to fight against. The tears came anyway and he wrapped his arms around Derek's waist, locked his hands together at the small of Derek's back and cried into his shoulder. He'd spent his entire flight telling himself, in very precise terms, not to do this and yet here he was.

Jack peeked around the corner from the dining room and watched silently, his young mind racing to build scenarios to explain what he was seeing.

“Hey,” Derek whispered against Aaron's ear, patting between his shoulders, his hug tightening almost uncomfortably. Aaron could feel his shoulders grinding in their sockets and he squirmed and shifted against Derek, pushing in closer. “It's okay. Everything's okay.”

“I know,” he nodded. It was weak, his face still pressed against Derek's neck now slick with his tears. Jack slipped silent back into the other room, understanding nothing except that he was intruding on a moment he wasn't ever meant to see. Aaron drew a shaky breath and cleared his throat, attempting to save what little face he could and stand up straight. “My head is bad today,” he said, thinking it might save him from admitting to the problems with Roy until later. Derek nodded, unconvinced but he wasn't an idiot and they both knew it was a weak explanation. His head had been bad every day since Peter Lewis, it wasn't new and it certainly didn't explain this. He'd talk to Jessica later, get the full story, she wouldn't hold back. You don't love a man like Aaron without finding ways to circumvent his little quirks.

“He'll be in here in a few minutes,” Fran said, pulling Jack to her and walking him back down the hallway away from his fathers at the door. “Your dad shoulders a lot of burdens that don't belong to him.”

“I know,” Jack replied quietly. “I wish he didn't do that.”

“I bet he does, too.” She had seen Jack do it too. He would get sullen and serious when his father had hard days, when Derek was upset about something that didn't go the way he expected. Their moods affected Jack, he would try to shoulder their burdens, ease their minds. She'd watched him try to make dinner once when Aaron worked late and Derek was sick in bed, and while he didn't know how to make anything more than sandwiches and potato chips, he did it because it would make life easier for the people he lived with. “I know my grandpa is mean to him about my mom. I hear him sometimes when he doesn't think I do.”

Fran regarded her grandson seriously and sighed, wrapping her arms around him. He shouldn't know the things he knew, and she couldn't change it no matter how she tried to wish it away. There was so much of his father in him. She never met his mother but she found herself hoping it was enough to save him from the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Out on the stoop, Derek had convinced Aaron to sit down. They would stay outside until he felt comfortable walking in, until he was convinced his rain cloud wouldn't ruin the evening. He wasn't convinced it was likely to happen. His voice was tight and too quiet to hear over the roar of traffic and the train rushing over tracks behind the house, but Derek got the basic idea fairly quickly. He rubbed mindlessly at a small hole in the knee of his pants and Derek watched him. “I need to get over it,” he sighed finally.

Derek raised an eyebrow, ready to speak for the first time. “No you don't. You need to accept it, sure, but you don't have to get over anything. Get into it. Fuckin' cry and get it out. That man's been more of a father to you than your own ever was, you deserve to grieve for what you've lost.”

The worst part was that he hadn't even gotten into the real meat of the problem. The photo of Sean, what Jessica said on the stairs, the pit was deep and he'd barely scraped the surface. Toss in a rock and you'll never hear it hit the bottom. He became vaguely aware that he was crying again when Derek reached out and pulled him close, tucked him into the crook of his arm and kissed the top of his head. It was a show of tenderness that he would normally have been uncomfortable with in such an exposed area but the way the sobs shuddered through him immobilized all other functions. Two weeks of complete frustration, from the moment he found out about Roy's diagnosis to Peter Lewis and now this just pouring out of him in a way so ugly and so uncontrollable that he felt like a monster. A million insignificant details built up into a tempest.

“He's right,” he whispered shakily, his voice rough and worn. “I know he's right.”

“Like hell he is,” Derek snapped back. “Just because some asshole...” By asshole he meant Foyet, but Aaron didn't care, he wasn't going to entertain excuses for what he knew he was responsible for.

“Derek don't. Please.” He was suddenly afraid that Jack would walk outside and see, and it had gone on long enough. He had to put an end to it, pull himself together. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, pushed away the last of the tears there and sucked in a deep, tremor of a breath. “It's fine. I need to call Jess and let her know I made it, I'll be inside in a few minutes.”

Derek threw his hands in the air in defeat, frustrated and stalked inside. He couldn't figure out how to break through, Aaron would have to arrive there on his own if he was going to do it at all. He sat with Jack instead, offered to deal another hand of poker when Aaron wandered back inside looking like he'd been put through the ringer. His eyes were red, glassy and raw, and Derek could tell that whatever conversation he'd had with Jessica had gone about as well as everything else that day. He couldn't hide it and didn't exactly try to, just tried to push past it and force a weak smile through tears that wouldn't seem to stop. A broken faucet, not exactly crying but his eyes were just too bright and wet and wide. A slow trickle.

“Happy Birthday,” he whispered when Fran pulled his defeated form into another hug, like she just couldn't help herself. She pushed up onto her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, let him cry into her hair. “I'm sorry.”

“No apology necessary,” she whispered back, holding him in her warmth. He couldn't place her perfume but it was soft, vaguely floral and made him think of powder rooms and dried roses. “You cry if you need to cry. I love you, darling.” While Derek had, moment before, been only mildly irritated he was now growing concerned. The last time he'd seen Aaron so beside himself that the tears flowed effortlessly, it had come up alongside some scary moments and dark thoughts. A pervading feeling of worthlessness and no longer idle consideration of his own mortality, his desire to continue walking his path. A pill bottle in hand in the dark bathroom, a carefully placed razor blade catching the gleam of the overhead light, his fingers toying with the safety lock on his gun safe...little moments of temptation that Derek had the distinct impression he'd broken in on at the exact second before a thought became a decision. Derek felt the familiar fear swell in his chest and for the rest of the evening found himself following Aaron like a lost puppy, never taking his eyes off of him. If he went to the bathroom, Derek was right there hovering, striking up some senseless conversation that would keep him talking.

Derek curled around him in bed like a dragon guarding its treasure and asked how his head was, if he'd remembered to take all of his medication and vitamins, if he'd eaten enough for dinner. Like he was afraid to let Aaron go to sleep for fear he might not wake up.

Aaron eased himself into the inquisition with his eyes closed against a pounding headache from crying all afternoon. There was the light fog in his brain from the painkiller, a fog he intended to make sure lasted the duration of the trip, but the headache that resulted from the tears was different and so far untouchable. Like a hangover, he felt dry, like a husk. He answered as many questions as he felt were reasonable, understanding Derek's concern, and while it wasn't necessary he allowed it until finally with a yawn he put an end to it. One soft kiss to Derek's arm wrapped around him, a delicate smile turning up just the corners of his mouth. “Goodnight.”

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#aaron hotchner #derek morgan #fran morgan #jessica brooks #jack hotchner #criminal minds #hotchgan #criminal minds fanfiction

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the-record · 3 years

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SSA Princess

Prompt from @ssa-seecher Can anyone make a fic about like Spencer x Cute!reader? Maybe where the reader is like the BAU baby or sumn and they dress super cute and girly but then they go to a bar where there’s a bunch of performers and there’s a heavy metal band and the reader knows every word and headbangs and the BAU is like “wut the fuck, that’s so cool and scary for you to do.” And then Derek watches Spencer and Reader bond bc one of the songs they play is funny enough Enter Sandman (from the season 1 case) or maybe SLIPKNOT or KORN? idk that’s just something I thought would be really badass hahaha

Summary: Reader gets forced out with the team to the bar where she bonds with Spencer over her favorite music.

A/N: Okay so I kinda hate how this turned out so I’ve been re-writing and re-writing it but none of those were any better. Also can we all agree that if Spencer wasn’t totally introverted and self-conscious he would totally be super punk?

TW: None?

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You were the BAU baby. The teams youngest member. The team had even nicknamed you ‘princess’ and ‘bunny’ because the way you acted and the clothes you wore. Also light tones and pastels. Purples, pinks, blues, yellows, anything light, fun, and super girly. Heels and skirts or dresses everyday with full face of makeup. You never missed.

“Hey, princess.” You spun around in your chair to look at the person behind you and saw Emily. “We’re going to the bar tonight, wanna come?” You debated it for a second. You didn’t really like the drink and bars were full of sweaty gross men. “Please. You haven’t been out with us in months. Everyone is coming, even Reid.” She wiggled her eyebrows laughing making you roll your eyes.

“Fine. But I don’t wanna drink. I’m only coming because you asked and because you are buying me dinner before we go.”

“Wait I didn’t-” You raised your eyebrows at her. Your one condition on going was your love, food. “Fine. We can go get something before we go. So finish up because I am about to leave and I am taking you with me. I’ll be with Garcia when your ready.” You nodded and spun back to finish the very little work you had left. It was your last file and you were almost done with it. When you finished you brought all of your finished paperwork to Hotch, saying goodbye, before heading back to your desk to grab your belongings.

“Bye guys! See you later.” You waved to your teammates before going to get Emily. “Hey Penny. Em I’m ready.”

“Wait, you actually got her to come out with us?” Penelope asked Emily completely stunned.

“I told you! Now I got to go get her food before she changes her mind. See you there?” She asked backing out towards you.

“Of course lovelies. Bye Y/N/N!” You waved before walking off with Emily. You’ve been on the team almost 2 years now and were really close with everyone. Specifically Emily and Reid. Yall were a power trio to say the least. Emily was kind of terrifying and sexy, Reid was hella smart, and you were a mix of both of them. She took you home to get ready before taking you to get a burger for Five Guys.

“I love you so much Em!” You spoked while eating your food.

“I love you too princess.” You guys pulled up outside the bar just as you finished eating and headed in together. She had convinced you to wear this super tight blue body con dress that defined your curves well so the moment you walked in, you felt the stares of drunk men. It made you anxious so you gripped onto Emily’s arm. “It’s alright. Just go sit with the group over there while I get drinks.” You nodded and let go but sped over the team.

“Damn Y/N.” You rolled your eyes at Morgan and took the spot close the Spencer leaving enough room for Emily on the other side. “Alright princess, what’s Emily getting you to drink?”

“Water.”

“Y/N come on! It’s your night off. Just one drink?” Penelope begged. It was so easy to give into her but you had to stand your ground.

“I don’t like to drink guys. You know that.” And it was true. You hated alcohol. You were a little bit of a lightweight and hangovers hit you really hard so you stayed away from drinking.

“Fine.” Derek settled. Emily quickly came over and gave the team the drinks she had ordered.

The night dragged on and you ended up leaning on Spencer’s shoulder as you tried not to fall asleep. He kept you upright and let you stay there the whole time until something caught your ears. Music. Specifically one of your favorite songs. Enter Sandman. You perked up at the sound of it, accidentally scaring Spencer. You stood up and pulled Spencer to where people were dancing as the team watched in confusion.

“What are you doing?” He yelled over the loud yelling and music. You didn’t answer him and just started singing every word to the song, headbanging with the rest of the crowd. You eventually got Spencer to as well and you both sang the music together.

Your friends watched in awe as you filled with energy and sang the songs being played. You quickly grew tired though and Spencer dragged you back to the table where you collapsed into your seat.

“What the fuck. Y/N, what was that?” You rest your entire body against Spencer as the team questioned you.

“What was what?” You were totally oblivious.

“That was kind of scary. Our little princess likes heavy metal and rock?” You shrugged and relaxed.

“Yeah. My dad loved it growing up so I have always loved it.”

“Okay, but what about you dragging Spencer of all people down there? He doesn’t necessarily like that music and crowds are not his thing.” Emily questioned.

“Spence knows Enter Sandman. I forced him to listen to a bunch of those songs when we were driving to a cabin on one of our cases. Also I knew he wouldn’t really care.”

They all looked at him as you closed your eyes and fell asleep. Spencer held you close so you didn't roll off the seat in your sleep.

"I'm so confused right now."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- @boba-king-iroh

#criminal minds #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fanfiction #derek morgan #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

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scripts4dreamers · 4 years

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And Stuff

AN: When you decided on a life of academia, you’d never expected to meet someone like Spencer Reid

Characters: Spencer Reid Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader Spoilers: None Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence, alcohol

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You hated this stupid paper, you really really did. You stared blankly at your screen, reading and rereading the same two paragraphs in the vain hope that something would stick, but it was all gibberish.

“Hey, there’s my favorite PhD student,” a familiar voice called, collapsing into the seat beside you, “coffee?”

“Please,” you sighed gratefully, wrapping your hands around the disposable cup and taking a deep sip. It was perfect, just warm enough to shock some life back into you, “I owe you one, Prof. Reid.”

Spencer wrinkled his nose distastefully, and you laughed.

“I told you I hate that,” he said.

“And we both know that’s a lie,” you teased back, “you love being called Professor.”

“By my students,” he admitted, “not by you. How’s the thesis outline coming along?”

You sighed, “it’s not.”

“Can I take a look?” Spencer asked, reaching out towards you.

“Noooooo way,” you said, closing your laptop quickly, “not until it’s done.”

“But, Y/N-“

“No, Spence! It’s terrible.”

Spencer stuck his tongue out at you but didn’t press the issue as he pulled a stack of unmarked essays out of his satchel. You and Spencer had met a few years ago, when you’d both started a BA in philosophy. It was your third undergraduate degree, but like Spencer’s hundredth, and you’d bonded over your love of academia almost instantly. By now, meeting in one of the common areas to study and work together was almost a ritual, twice a week at least, every week of the semester. You loved it, you relied on it really. Without Spencer you were sure you’d have lost your mind years ago.

Spencer couldn’t always stay long, after all he was still a hot shot FBI agent, but even just the little bit of time you did have together was like a breath of fresh air. You both looked forward to the chance to talk about something other than your jobs for once.

“I’m sure it’s not, Y/N/N,” Spencer assured.

“Mhhm,” you said unconvincingly, “what about you? Did you get your epistemology paper in on time?”

“Oh yeah. I’m not sure anything I wrote technically qualifies as an argument, but it’s done.” Spencer replied, his eyes tracing the papers in front of him at lightning speed and marking as he went

You could see the signs of exhaustion on his face and your stomach pinched with concern. Spencer was a genius, you knew that better than anyone, but even he wasn’t immune to the stresses of university life. He was always burning the candle at both ends, taking on more than any reasonable person could ever hope to accomplish, and that was before he started teaching an intro to criminology class. It worried you.

“Spence?”

He looked up, his eyes still glassy and faraway, the hint of a smile on his lips, “Mmhmm?”

You frowned, “Are you okay? You look exhausted.”

Spencer nodded, “Did you know that some studies have shown that an adult man can actually survive on as little as two hours of sleep a night without showing outwards signs of exhaustion?” He rambled, gesturing at nothing with his hands, “Sleep deprivation will, of course, affect your mental capabilities over time, but the amount of time that process actually takes is fairly individual. In my case-“ he looked over, noticed you raising your eyebrows at him, and laughed, obviously realising just how tired he was. “Yeah I’m a little tired,” he admitted, “it’s just been a long week that’s all. I was up for a few days for a case,,” he nudged your shoulder with his, “you know if you took me up on my offer I’d probably have more time to sleep.”

“Me? Join the FBI?” You scoffed, shaking your head, “No way. I’ve never even held a gun.”

“Neither had I before I joined.”

“Yeah but you’re-“ you gestured in his general direction, “you know.”

“I’m what?”

“You know,” you huffed, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment, “strong. And brave. And stuff.”

Spencer laughed but he looked pleased with himself nonetheless, “you think I’m strong and brave?”

“And stuff,” you clarified, “I’m an academic. I’m perfectly happy in a dark room with my dusty books and manuscripts, thank you very much.”

Spencer nodded, stealing a sip of your coffee and grimacing at the taste, “is there any sugar in this at all?”

“You tell me,” You answered, “you bought it.”

“Well there’s obviously not enough, you can still taste the actual coffee,” he said, just as his phone started to beep frantically.

Spencer took it out of his pocket and frowned at the screen. Your heart sunk a little but, when Spencer looked up at you apologetically, you shot him a small smile.

“Duty calls,” you said simply.

Spencer nodded, packing his stack of papers back into his satchel, “I’m sorry, Y/N/N. I’ll see you back here on Friday?”

“Sure,” you agreed, “if you’re back by then.”

“And you’ll send me your thesis outline when you’re finished with it?”

“Of course.”

Spencer wrapped one arm around your shoulder, giving you a quick hug, “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Enjoy your day.”

“Good luck, Professor,” you smiled, waving him off, “and thanks for the coffee!”

He waved back at you, half jogging and already on the phone as he vanished into the incoming crowds. You watched him go, sighing sadly as you turned back to your unfinished outline.

“Okay, Y/N, you can do this. Spencer’s written like three of these, let’s go.” You muttered, “The psychological implications of linguistic progression, think.”

You threw yourself back into your research, losing yourself in the methodical nature of your work. The coffee next to you got cold.

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Spencer was flushed by the time he made it into the office, his cheeks hurting with the effort of suppressing his smile. Time with you always did that to him, no matter how drained he was when he first arrived.

You were like a ray of sunshine on an otherwise very gloomy day, and ten minutes with you was better for his mental health than a whole weekend’s worth of sleep. You were sweet, and funny, and you let him ramble about whatever he wanted to and even pretended to listen. Meeting you for coffee every week had become more than an act of friendship, it was an act of self care, a thin thread holding what was left of his sanity together.

His phone chimed and he smiled down at the message, a picture of you sipping your coffee and giving the cameras a big thumbs up:

Go kick some bad guy ass, Wise Guy!

He started typing up a reply but, before he could, someone interrupted.

“Good date, Pretty Boy?” Morgan greeted.

“It’s not a date, Morgan, you know that,” Spencer replied, fondly, “it’s just coffee with a friend.”

“Oh yeah it’s totally not a date, just a biweekly coffee hangout with someone you’ve been in love with since forever.”

“Yeah, exactly,” he smiled.

“But it did go well, then?” He retorted with a knowing smile.

Spencer smiled and nodded, “She thinks I’m strong and brave and stuff.”

“And stuff?”

“And stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” Prentiss interjected.

Spencer froze, “I don’t know, I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Does she know you’re not dating?” Prentiss asked.

“What? Yes of course! Or-maybe? I don’t know we haven’t exactly talked about it.” Spencer replied.

“No, she doesn’t know,” Morgan clarified.

Spencer opened his mouth to argue but, before he could, Garcia cut in.

“Okay my little geniuses, it’s a weird one today. Let’s get briefed,” Garcia called.

“When do we get to meet her?” Prentiss whispered as they took their seats.

“Never,” Spencer replied.

Emily pouted, “you’re no fun.”

Spencer smiled but, as the briefing went on and the picture of their newest case got clearer and clearer, so did something else; they couldn’t do this alone. They needed help, very very specific help. His heart sunk. As they headed to the jet, Spencer pulled out his phone, wishing to God he didn’t have to.

“Hey, Y/N, remember how you said you owed me one?”

—————————-

This had to be some sort of nightmare, you thought to yourself as you stepped off the jet. When Spencer had first called you, you’d laughed, told him to stop joking around and tell you what he actually wanted but, as it turned out, he was serious. They had a case, he’d said, one that required a certain set of expertise, one that only you had. And you couldn’t really say no could you? Not to Spencer.

And now you’d solved it. It was over. Your hands were shaking and you’d never been this tired in your life, but it was over. You felt a hand on your shoulder and jumped.

“Hey, it’s alright, kid,” Derek Morgan assured you, “you’re okay.”

You nodded, even though it wasn’t a question and gave him a small smile.

“I know.”

Derek nodded, his dark eyes boring into you in that way only members of the BAU could, like they were looking into you and not at you, so you tried to look brave.

“You did good work on this case,” Derek said, walking back to the building with you, “without you I’m not sure we would’ve caught the guy.”

You shook your head, “Spen-Reid would have figured it out eventually.”

Derek pressed his lips together, “Probably, but even he said it would’ve taken him days to reconstruct the language from scratch, even without adding the psychology behind it. In that time who knows how many people our UnSub would have been able to get.”

You looked over your shoulder to where Spencer was standing at the base of the jet’s stairs, looking everywhere but at you. He’d been acting distant for a while now, ever since Hotch had decided to strap you into a bulletproof vest and send you in to talk a maniac off a ledge. The UnSub had been having some sort of psychotic break, he’d forgotten how to speak English and communicated exclusively in a language he’d created himself, a combination of several that pointed to details about his personal life. It was fascinating, in the worst way possible, a real life application of the theory you’d been working on for years. It would make your thesis a piece of cake to finish.

The thought made you feel nauseous.

“Is he-“ you asked Derek, pressing your lips together nervously, “is he angry at me or something?”

He frowned, “Reid? No. He’s crazy about you, he looks forward to those coffee dates with you every week for days.”

You flushed, “They're not dates, Derek.”

“Oh yeah, sorry,” he replied, sarcastically, “slip of the tongue.” He ruffled your hair fondly, “Go on, talk to him, I’ll call you a cab when you’re done.”

You nodded and hung back, letting Derek’s hulking form vanish into the FBI building as you made your way slowly back toward the jet. Spencer was staring up at the moon, looking pensive and beautiful and painfully sad.

“Hey, there’s my favorite profiler,” you greeted gently, “you alright?”

“Hey,” he replied, still looking up at the moon, “why didn’t you go inside with everyone else?”

“I was waiting for you,” you explained, “I wanted to see if you’re okay.”

“If I’m okay?” He laughed incredulously, meeting your eye, “Y/N, I’m out here because I’m trying to figure out what I could possibly say to make up for what I just put you through.” He explained, “This...this stuff-it’s my world, not yours. I should never have brought you into it.”

“Spencer you needed me, your team needed an expert and, no offense, but your social circle isn’t big enough to have two experts in linguistic psychology.” You teased gently.

Spencer chuckled and crossed his arms over his chest.

You stepped forward, resting a hand gently on his bicep, “You made the right decision, Spence. I’m glad you called, I’m-“ you paused, “I’m glad you let me help you.”

Spencer snorted, “And it nearly got you killed.”

“It didn’t nearly get me killed-“

“Yes. It did,” he insisted, “the UnSub was psychotic, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t have killed you on sight. Hotch should never have let you-I should never have let you go in there.”

“But I wanted to and I’m fine. The case is over, Spence, we’re in the clear.” You assured him, “Things can go back to normal now.”

“No, they can’t!” Spencer practically shouted, turning to face you, his eyes red and puffy. You instinctively stepped back and Spencer pressed his lips together, looking guilty, “Y/N, I-knowing you were in danger and that there was nothing I could do about it...it killed me. You were never meant to know about any of this, you were meant to be safe! I was meant to keep you safe!” He explained, running a hand through his hair, “You were the one thing in my life that this stuff couldn’t touch and now-“ he breathed, “now everytime you look at me you’re gonna think about this, and him, and everything I put you through and-“ he met your eye, “and things will be weird and you’ll stop wanting to talk to me. Things won’t be the same, Y/N.”

You flushed and stepped forward, “You're worried that I’m not gonna talk to you anymore?” You asked. Spencer didn’t answer, but the way he avoided your eye and worked his jaw seemed like answer enough, “Spence,” you smiled, “you’re like...my favorite person in the world. This stuff,” you gestured around, “what you do, it doesn’t change that. In fact I think it’s kind of incredible. You guys tracked down a serial killer based on nothing but some muddled letters, who does that?” You laughed.

Spencer didn’t respond, but the edges of his lips twitched, like he wanted to smile. You watched him for a moment, the way he held his head, the way his eyes darted up to yours. He was just as beautiful as he’d always been, but there was something more now. He was vulnerable, you realized, really vulnerable for the first time since you’d known him. No matter what he said, Spencer was reaching out to you.

“Your world is messed up, Spencer,” you continued, stepping forward and taking his hand, “but you aren’t. We aren’t, and I’m glad I got to be there when you needed me. We’re good, okay?”

“Do you promise?” He asked, his voice small.

You squeezed his hand, “I promise.”

Spencer nodded, squeezing back, and let you slowly pull him back towards the FBI building.

“Besides,” you continued, “you still owe me a look at my thesis.”

Spencer snorted, “That’ll literally take me 3 seconds.”

“Show off.”

“What? It’s true.” He laughed.

You suddenly realized that Spencer was still holding your hand and, when he saw you looking and tried to pull away, you held on tighter. Spencer smiled nervously, and you felt a rush of something warm and promising flow through you.

“Hey, Y/N?” He started nervously.

“Yes, Spencer?”

“Are we dating?” He asked.

“After today? We’d better be. I’m expecting at least a dinner after almost getting shot for you.” You teased, bumping his shoulder with yours.

“That’s so not funny,” Spencer replied, but he was smiling when he said it.

“It’s a little bit funny.”

“Fine,” Spencer agreed, stopping in his tracks and pulling you towards him, “it’s a little bit funny.”

And that’s when he pulled you in, cupping your face with his hands and pressing his lips to yours. Just like that, the weariness of the day melted away, disappearing into a kiss that tasted like burnt coffee and sugar and the best champagne you’d ever had. Spencer was strong and sure. He kissed you like it was the only chance he’d ever get, like he wanted to burn the memory of you into that brilliant mind of his forever. When you broke apart it felt like the earth had shifted beneath you and you stared at one another, breathless and smiling like teenagers caught making out beneath the bleachers.

“Oh yeah,” you laughed, “yeah you definitely owe me dinner.”

“Woohoo!” Morgan cheered.

“Ooooo, Y/N and Reid sitting in a tree,” Prentiss sang, “K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

“Go get ‘em, Lover Boy,” Garcia joined in.

Spencer laughed, letting his head fall down onto your shoulder, humming when you threaded your finger through his hair.

“Can we-um-can we maybe continue this at a later date?” Spencer asked, “Like maybe at dinner? Or,” he checked his watch, “breakfast, maybe?”

You looked back at Spencer’s team and felt, with a sudden rush of clarity, that you were looking at a group of people who would soon be staples of your life.

“Let’s go get coffee with the others,” you answered, “and then after that,” you tilted his head up and kissed him softly, “you can take me to breakfast.”

taglist: @ourfavoritesergeantbarnes

#jordsie #jordsie writes #criminal minds #criminal minds headcanons #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid headcanons #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler imagine #matthew gray gubler x you #matthew gray gubler

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girl-of-many-fandoms · 3 years

Note

I was wondering if you'd consider doing a Hotch x plus size reader? Totally fine if you're not up for it! I have this idea where the reader is a tech person like Penelope & she's around the same age. On a number of occasions she'll stay later to finish her work and it's only her & Hotch left. So she starts this cute little friendship where she'll make him coffee before she leaves. That turns into a crush, then she begins to avoiding him cuz she's shy, then he confronts her saying her likes her.

Late Nights

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x PLUS!Reader

Warnings: None

WOWWW this is a long one hope you guys enjoy it 🤗💜

MASTERLIST

-----

“You know, working this late should be against the law for single parents” walking in Hotch’s office I shut the door behind me

“You’re working late again?” he looked up from the file on his desk smiling at me

“My stupid systems chose today of all days to act up, I had to upgrade the software and all the fun stuff” placing the extra coffee cup on his desk I plopped down in the chair opposite me

“It’s taking a while to get back online but hopefully I’ll be out of here in the next hour or so”

For the past couple weeks Hotch had been working late nights and I thought that I’d stay back also in case he needed someone to talk too. As a profiler he sees and deals with a lot of gruesome things that would keep a normal person up all night. At first it was innocent, I’d pop in to check in on him to distract him for a bit or make him his coffee when he insists on staying in the office later than usual but as we grew closer he started opening up more to me. He started talking about the things they saw and did on the case the team had worked on and then we started talking more about Jack and how he’s doing at school, more personal topics

“I know I’m not the most open when it comes to expressing feelings but I just want to say thank you” Aaron took a sip of his coffee before placing the cup down, eyes glued to my frame

“What are you thanking me for?” he smiled and I couldn’t help but swoon a bit. Aaron doesn’t smile much or show us his soft side so it’s nice to see him this relaxed around me

“For being a friend, for working late nights with me and all the coffee” my stomach fluttered as he went on

“The coffee is good” chuckling I brought my cup to my lips and took a sip in order to help hide the blush that heated up my cheeks

“It is, oh I forgot to ask you, Jack has a soccer game this weekend and he insisted that I asked you to be there” he fiddled with his fingers waiting for my reaction

“Of course, I’ll be there”

------

“Of course, I’ll be there. That’s what I told him, oh God what if I’m reading into this too much”

I’m currently pacing the floor of Penelope’s bat cave as we waited for the coroner’s report to come in. My phone buzzed for the tenth time today, looking down at the screen I sighed letting it go to voicemail

“Hotch again? You know he doesn’t smile nor opens up so easily to anyone besides you, I wouldn’t be surprised if he likes you” Penelope got cut off by the ringing phone on her desk

“Speak and be heard oh mighty one”

“Garcia I need you to dig deeper into our victims background” Hotch’s voice filled the room and I immediately sat down

“Sure, anything specific I’m looking for sir?” she started tapping away at her keyboard doing exactly what he said

“We need to find the connection between all three of them”

“Okay sir, I’ll call you back when I have something”

“Penelope wait, don’t hang up” she paused with her finger over the end button looking over at me

“Is Y/N with you?” I frantically motioned for her to say no and thankfully she caught on

“No sir, want me to pass on a message?”

“No, no, uh thanks Garcia” he sounded so defeated and that only made me feel even more guilty. For the past three days I’ve been avoiding Aaron for as much as I could ever since the night in his office, I realized that I was setting myself up for heartbreak. The call ended and she glared at me

“You are hurting that man”

“I know and I feel terrible but I need to put some distance between the both of us”

“He’s in Nevada with the team right now how much more distance do you want?” she deadpanned looking me in the eyes

“It’s complicated alright”

“It really isn’t” she turned back to her set and started working on the case ending our conversation

-----

“Welcome back my heroes!”

Garcia held a box of cupcakes up welcoming the team back as they stepped off the elevator. I stood a few feet behind her smiling at them as they grabbed a cake and filled into the bullpen. I was about to follow behind them when a hand held on to my wrist keeping me in place

“Is everything alright?”

Aaron

“Yeah, everything’s fine, why would they be?” I started rambling removing my hand from his hold, avoiding his gaze

“You say that but I don’t believe you, let’s talk in my office” he opened the door for me and we headed straight to his office. I saw Penelope shoot me a small smile before I entered the room. I took a seat on the sofa as he moved to his desk.

Aaron dropped his go bag on his desk and removed his jacket before joining me on the sofa. He stared into my eyes trying to get a sense of what’s going on, profiling me

“Is there a reason why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“I haven’t been avoiding you sir” I couldn’t help but pick at my fingernails as nervousness washed over me

“Sir? Y/N, it’s just the two of us and yes, you haven’t even returned any of my calls or texts” I wrecked my brain trying to come up with an excuse but I couldn’t

“I know that there isn’t any other way to say this but, the other night when we were in here I had to tell you something but I didn’t know how you were going to take it, I still don’t-” he rambled scratching the back of his neck

“Aaron” placing my hand on his knee I cut him off, he took my small hand in his gently brushing the back of my hand using his thumb

“I like you” he blurted and I froze, my heartrate sped up the longer we sat here staring at each other

Say something idiot!

“Why me?”

Dear God, you should’ve stayed quiet

“What do you mean why you?”

“I’m not your type Aaron”

“What’s my type then?”

“Someone like Emily, brave, courageous, can actually shoot to save herself, skinny, gorgeous” I mumbled the last two hoping he didn’t hear them but he did

“You don’t have to be skinny to be gorgeous and besides, you are perfect, you’re funny, sweet, caring, determined, charismatic, I could go on” he smiled giving my hand a gentle squeeze as we held each other’s gaze

“Most importantly, you make me feel safe” my breathing hitched as we sat here, neither one of us wanting to break the moment

“I like you too Aaron”

------

The referee blew the whistle ending the soccer match and Jack jumped with glee with his team as they were the winners. I cheered and clapped happy for the little boy who scored one of the winning goals as he ran directly to his father. Smiling I made my way over to the Hotchner boys and Jack broke free from Aaron’s arms and rushed over to me

“Good job buddy, you did so great!” wrapping my arms around the child I kissed the top of his head

“Did you see me score?” he pulled back enough to look up at me and I cupped his flushed cheeks in my palms

“I did and that was an excellent bicycle kick”

“Jack!” one of his teammates called him over for a group photo and he ran off. A pair of arms snaked around my waist pulling me flush against the owner, Aaron

“You did great with them” spinning around I wrapped my arms around his middle

“I did the best I could with a group of ten year olds”

“Thanks for coming it means a lot to me and I know it does to him too”

“No need to thank me, I had a good time listening to chatty Cathy to your left go on about how hot you look in those shorts” he laughed pulling me in closer to him

“Join us for dinner tonight, it’s been a while since he’s seen you and it’ll be good to have you around more”

“Sounds like a plan” pushing myself upwards I kissed him and he immediately responded. I swear I was about to explode from the electricity that flowed through my body from having his lips on mine

We were so wrapped up in our moment that we had forgotten about the crowd of people that surrounded us until they started wolf whistling and cheering us on. Breaking apart my face became heated from the blush that overtook my cheeks. Aaron looked down at me with a boyish grin clearly enjoying the moment

“How’s that for our first kiss?”

“Not quite what I was expecting”

“C’mon let’s head back to my place” taking my hand in his he called out to his son and we headed to his car. The both of them quickly fell into conversation and I must admit, seeing Hotch domesticated has got to be the hottest thing ever

The bond that these two have is very special and I can’t wait to share more moments like this with them

------

HEY GUYS PSA!! If any of you lovely readers would love to tagged in my fics let me know and I’ll gladly add you to the list ❤️

Tag list:

@calm-and-doctor

#criminal minds #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaronhotchnerimagine #aaron hotchner x plus reader

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ssa-sugar-tits · 4 years

Text

Meet Emily

Request: this one

Emily x reader. Reader and Emily visit the reader’s very homophobic small town. (I know it’s very random but I’m curious as to how Emily would handle it.) Thanksxx :)

Content warnings: homophobia, cursing, offensive slurs, angst, sexual reference

Emily Prentiss is the love of your life and you're the love of hers. Plain and simple. You have no doubt that she's the woman you want the spend your life with and you certainly aren't ashamed of her or your sexuality. In fact, you show her off, like she deserves, any chance you get. Which is why it's so hard to tell her why you don't want to accept your parents invitation to come back home and reconnect. More specifically, it's hard to tell her why you haven't told your parents about your beautiful, wonderful girlfriend of 8 months. You never got the chance to come out to your parents. You were... found out. When people hear that, they think of two clumsy teenagers experimenting, tangled up in some sexual endeavor. But in reality, they found a diary back in high school about a girl you liked. You were past what happened but the screaming, the slurs, the complete and utter rejection of who you are... That gut wrenching feeling never escaped your heart. A soft hand is suddenly clasping yours and you look up to see Emily smiling at you.

"Hey Y/N, what's wrong?"

You laugh and shake your head.

"Fucking profilers."

"So something is wrong. You can tell me whatever it is baby."

Spitting it out before you can talk yourself out of it, you avoid eye contact and stroke her thumb nervously.

"My parents invited me to go back to my hometown, they- they want to... reconnect. They also said they'd love to meet my significant other if I have one."

Her lovely face softened and she beamed, showing off her plump lips and bright teeth. But like you said before, fucking profilers. She immediately realized it must not be a good thing and her face fell.

"I'm assuming there's bad news too?" She asked in a careful tone, lifting your hand to press a light kiss to your knuckles.

"They found out about me being into girls high school and they weren't thrilled to say the least. Neither was most of my town when word got around." Sighing sadly at the memory you add, "It's the reason I got the hell out come graduation and never looked back."

"Oh darling..." Emily's eyes met yours and you involuntarily let a tear slip down your cheek. You were ready for this. For her to call you pathetic, to be angry, to leave. But she threw your expectations out the door when she finished her sentence. "My mother isn't exactly supportive of my sexual orientation either. And you know what? I say we accept the invitation and show everyone that love is fucking love. And we are madly in it." That gorgeous smile spread across her face again and you flashed one back before pressing a grateful kiss to her lips. She returned it hungrily before pulling away when you mumble against her lips,

"I love you so much Em."

"I love you too Y/N."

Hotch approves the time off and you book a flight to the place you fought so desperately to leave behind, hopeful that this could be a new beginning. Emily soothes your clear nerves on the way there and when you get to your old street, you take a deep breath and turn to look at the amazing woman next to you for a final boost of courage. She curled her midnight hair and chose a white summer dress that accentuates her body perfectly. How could they not love her? Her beauty is breathtaking and once they talk to her? They'll see how funny and smart she is. And you'll definitely brag about all the times she's saved your ass in the field and the people she's put away. Taking her hand in yours and clasping it firmly, you walk up to the house but freeze in your tracks when you see what your parents have in store for you. A welcome back party, with all your homophobic bastard neighbors gaping at you and Emily, the judgement and disgust written everywhere. Your grip on her hand doesn't waver and hers tightens as if to tell everyone "I'm hers and she is mine. And we're both goddamn proud of it." As you make your way to your parents, you can make out the whispers.

"Maybe they're... good friends."

"I always knew little Y/L/N was a dyke."

"That is not right."

"It's disgusting..."

Emily stands up tall while you let your hair fall and cover your face, each step emphasizing more regret at even showing up. She always was the brave one. The badass. She is one hell of a woman. And that's all it takes to remind you that she's so much more important than the close minded pieces of shit that think they can judge what you two have. The words practically scream pride as you greet your parents.

"Hey Mom and Dad. It's good to see you, it was really nice of you to organize this! This is my girlfriend, Emily Prentiss." Emily extends a hand but neither of your parents take it.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N, I-"

"Get out."

Your mother's eyes scan the crowd of onlooking, horrified neighbors as if assessing the damage you're doing to her reputation and your father looks at you with undeniable anger.

"Excuse me?" The look on Em's face tells you she's close to chewing them out but you don't give her the chance. No one disrespects your girlfriend. No one.

"Who the hell do you think you are? I came back here because you invited me. And to think, I thought you were going to be more accepting now. I thought just being your daughter was enough to be accepted and loved but I guess fucking not. Wipe that look off your face because Emily is a goddess of a woman and I'm in love with her. I'll shout that from the fucking rooftops without a care in the world because I'm damn lucky to have her. You and all the other assholes in this town can go fuck themselves. I'm glad I can leave this shithole knowing that I told you, you'll never be half the woman Em is. Don't even think about ever calling me again. And to everyone staring at us, this is what love is. Two people who care for each other above all else and you know what? Not a single other person in the world matters. So take a good, hard look at us, especially those of you that are like me ashamed of who you are because of the internalized god awful opinions this crap town has. It'll be okay. Because love is love, regardless of gender. You'll find your Emily one day and no one can take that from you." A smile to yourself is hard to contain because for once around your parents, you're proud to be a woman who loves another woman. (It helps that you happen to have the best woman by your side.) Loud and clear, Emily says with love and adoration,

"That's my girl."

You give her a passionate, desperate kiss and grasp her hair in front of everyone before grinning and leaving the way you came in. This time however, there's no fear or doubt. There's only you and Emily. And of course, the hotel room you booked just in case... you two are definitely putting the bed to good use tonight.

#criminal minds #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss x reader #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n

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change-the-world-someday · 4 years

Text

Northern Downpour

Anonymous asks:

15. “Hey, do you want me to kill that guy for you?” With Hotch? Platonic and Gn reader. Please and thank you. P.s I absolutely adore your writing!! You are so unbelievably talented it’s jarring! Have an amazing week, I love you my pretty. - 🌿

A/N: Actually one of the sweetest things anyone’s ever said to me. Thank you, you’re very kind :)

Aaron Hotchner x GN!Teen!Reader

Summary: After a hard day at school, that last thing you want is for the BAU to see you. But, you need to meet your uncle, and everyone knows things aren’t as they seem...

⚠️TW⚠️ Bullying.

Masterlist

—•—

It's been a long day, only made longer by the sound of the clock ticking, counting down the minutes until your final period, biology, finishes. Your teacher, Mr Anderson, drones on about sampling techniques and random number generators, something you really couldn't give a shit about.

You just want to leave and head to Quantico, meet up with your uncle, Aaron, and grab some cheap takeout. It's your monthly tradition.

You moved in with Aaron a few months ago, the circumstances of which are not the best. You father was deemed unfit to take care of you, and since your mum died when giving birth to you, you were put under the custody of your uncle. You had a chance to start over, so you did. You cut your hair, changed your style, and made new friends.

However, with new friends, come new enemies.

For you, said enemy is one Alex Darcy, a linebacker for the school's football team. He thinks he's the shit and at the top of the food chain. He also has a power complex and it's blatantly obvious to you. It's seen in the way Alex carries himself, the way he talks to every popular girl with a pulse...

...and the way he picks on you.

You tap your foot, drumming your pen against your notebook, watching the second's hand move, slower and slower.

The bell rings.

You rush to collect your things, desperately stuffing your pencil case and notebook into your bag. Maybe, if you’re fast enough, you can miss Alex and get the earlier train to Quantico. Aaron knows you get to the bullpen at half-four, or four if you get the earlier train.

You almost run out the classroom and down the hall, thankful for the lack of crowd, but it doesn't last wrong. The hallways fill with a mix of sweat and Axe body spray and you keep your head down, avoiding anyone.

If you can just make it to the station.

You’re stopped. A hand grabs your bag, pulling the small handle and dragging you away. You let out a sigh, just following the taller teenager. You learned long ago to not fight Alex, as it just leads to getting beat up a lot worse. So, you just let him pull you into the disabled toilet, and before you know it, your face is on the floor.

"How was your day?" Alex asks, in this sick tone you can only imagine the unsubs your uncle catches use. You sigh and go to stand, only to feel a foot in the middle of your back, pushing you to stay on the floor.

"I. Asked. You. A. Question."

"It was...okay," you mumble, hoping to get this over and done with. As long as Alex doesn't hit you in the face, you can hide it. You don't want to admit to your uncle what's happening at school, especially when one of your new uncles, Derek, taught you a lot of self-defence.

"Just okay?" Alex asks. You nod. "Shame."

He proceeds to aim a kick at your ribs, satisfied at the cry you let out. He continues, punching and kicking you all over your body, taking delight in making you writhe in pain. That is until he changes the pattern.

He stops, giving you a moment to breathe and slowly stand up. He throws a punch at your face, making you stumble back into the tiled wall of the bathroom. Alex lets out a small laugh and gives a small 'see you on Monday' before leaving.

You sigh, a few tears falling from your eyes, and hobble over to the sink, where a mirror is. It takes you ten minutes to look at yourself in the mirror, and you gasp.

Your white t-shirt is stained with a few drops of blood, presumably from your nose, and your eye is already starting to swell and darken. You lean over the sink, turning on the cold tap and washing the stains on your face. The cool water helps soothe your face, and soon, you walk out of the bathroom and limp to the train station, which is about a ten-minute walk from your school.

People look at you a little funny, so you decide the best thing you can do is keep your head down, put your earphones in, and just get to Quantico, thinking of excuses you can come up with for your black eye and your bloody nose. It's still dribbling a little, and you periodically wipe it to stop it running onto your shirt again.

You’ll need to get a new one.

Suddenly, there's a notification interrupting your music.

Hotchie

Where are you? You're normally here by now. Is everything alright?

You let out a sigh and jab a text back as you board the train.

Y/N

Yeah. Sorry, we had to stay behind to finish a practical. Cameron was messing about again.

Twenty minutes later, you’re entering Quantico. You get through security with relative ease, since you come here every day after school, with only a few odd looks from people. Silently, you beg that they won't profile you.

Who are you kidding? Of course, they'll profile you, even if it's subconscious. It's their job, after all.

The elevator doors open and you step out. You take a deep breath and open the glass doors to the bullpen. There, JJ, Spencer, Rossi, and Emily are sitting around and talking, Aaron's in his office, and Derek and Penelope are somewhere else.

"Y/N!" Emily exclaims as she notices your entrance. You look up and are met with gasps.

"What happened?"

"Holy shit!"

"Are you alright?"

"What happened, bambino?"

Immediately, all four agents are rushing over, making you cower a little. The team immediately pick up on this, slowing down and keeping a distance.

"It's nothing," you mumble and head to the spare desk in the corner. "I don't want to talk about it."

The four agents look at each other. They don't have a good feeling about this, but they know that if they press you, you’ll close off more. Derek walks in.

"Hey, kid-woah, what happened to your face?"

You look up to meet the concerned gaze of Morgan, who's pulling 'that' face, the one where his eyebrows furrow up and his eyes glaze over a little.

"Doesn't matter," you reply and pull out your notebook and pencil case, starting on the homework you were set for the weekend. You pull your calculator out and work on some quadratic sums, figuring out the points and plotting graphs. As you zone out into your work, you fail to notice the five agents in the bullpen head to Hotch's office.

JJ knocks the door.

"Come in."

She opens the door and the four agents walk in, making Hotch stop what he's doing and look up. They've never all in his office at once. "What's going on?"

"Aaron..." JJ starts, "something happened to Y/N."

Immediately, Hotch gets up out of his chair and looks out his window, watching you work on your maths. He turns back to the team.

"What do you mean? They’re here. They told me their class was kept behind," he says.

"Well, Y/N walked in with a limp, clutching their side, and will barely look up at any of us. They have a black eye and their nose bleeding a little," Spencer explains. "I think they were beaten up. They keep brushing us off, though."

"If we push them, they might close off more," Dave joins in.

Hotch nods and looks over at you sitting at a desk. He dismisses everyone, sending them back to work, and waits five minutes before leaving his office. He signs the last bit of his paperwork and heads out, down the steps and wonders over to your desk, trying to be as ambiguous as he can. Eventually, he grabs a chair and pulls it up so he's opposite you.

"Y/N? You okay?" He asks in the quietest, softest voice he can manage. You look up and your eyes almost well with tears at Aaron's face. He looks almost distraught, the thought of anyone hurting his family too much to handle.

"'M fine," you mumble. Aaron shakes his head.

"Why don't we talk in my office, yeah?"

You shrug, and Aaron doesn't fail to notice the way you wince as you walk up the stairs. The rest of the team try their hardest not to stare, but Reid can't help himself. You remind him of himself when he was in high school.

When they reach the office, Aaron closes the door behind you and you two sit on the sofa in the corner.

"What happened?" Aaron asks. You shrug, shaking your head.

"Doesn't matter," you mumble. Aaron lets out a sigh and a long exhale through his nose. He can't get frustrated, but he can't help the tone that seeps through slightly.

"Y/N, it does matter. You're getting hurt and that's not okay," he explains. "Is this a one-time thing?"

You shake your head, seemingly unable to talk. Aaron nods.

"Okay. Is it someone in school?"

Another nod.

"Do you want me to kill that guy for you?"

You let out a small laugh, wincing a little at the sharp stabbing pain in your ribs. Aaron's eyebrows furrow and he looks you over.

"How bad is it?"

You sigh. "Erm, my...my ribs hurt, and my leg, and my face."

"Okay. How about we get you patched up, I'll order takeout and include the team, Jack and Beth can come here, and I'll call your school and sort this out on Monday. That sound good?"

You nod and give a small smile as Aaron leaves to get the first-aid kit. "Are you okay with Reid helping you with your nose? He's the one with three PhD's."

You let out a small laugh and nod.

You’re so pleased you have a great family to back you up and look after you, even if you sometimes don't want them to.

—•—

Hope you guys enjoyed it :) Send in some requests. Don’t be shy.

Taglist:@breadsticks2004 @criminalsmarts @rororo06 @ogmilkis @ssebstann @herecomesthewriterwitch @garcias-batcave @spidey-reids-2003

#hotch #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #platonic Aaron Hotchner x reader #Aaron Hotchner x gender neutral reader #gender netural reader #gender neutral!reader #male reader #male!reader #female reader #behavioural analysis unit #behavioral analysis unit

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juniorgman187 · 4 years

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Luck of the Universe (Spencer Reid Screenplay)

Season 9 Reid deserves more recognition. Definitely one of my fav looks/seasons. So I wrote about it :)

Summary: Years after Spencer saves Maggie’s life, they reunite unexpectedly. Maggie thinks it’s fate; Spencer does not. She challenges him and says they’ll meet again, even without intending to. They do meet again, but not under favorable circumstances. Maggie’s life is in danger and Spencer must save her . . . again.

Couple: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Category: Angst, Fluff, Screenplay Content Warning: Profanity, pregnancy, miscarriage, abduction, violence, death Word Count: 10.5k

DISCLAIMER: This was originally a screenplay but was adapted to have a more cohesive appearance on Tumblr.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Spencer Reid sits outside a cafe to enjoy his beachside view from a coffee shop. Foreign to California’s sun, Spencer has aloe and sunscreen packed with him. He even wears sunglasses wherever he goes. While he patiently waits for the arrival of his coffee, he reads The Narrative of John Smith. The exact copy that Maeve gave him over a year ago.

Serving his coffee is Maggie. This event will single handedly change both of their lives forever.

MAGGIE: Let me know if I can get you anything else.

As she sets down the cup, Reid thanks her, and out of politeness, he tilts his head forward ever so slightly so that his glasses will shift to the bridge of his nose. This way she can see his eyes. And when she does see his eyes, they are so familiar to her, but she can’t place where she remembers them from. Spencer notices her looking at him.

MAGGIE: Oh sorry, you just looked really familiar.

SPENCER: Actually we have met before. I’m the agent that, um, saved you.

Maggie stands there for a moment in complete disbelief.

MAGGIE: Oh my God, yes! No, I totally remember you now. Wow. Forgive me for not introducing myself sooner I’m -

SPENCER: Maggie.

Maggie peers down at her name tag and gives him a funny look.

SPENCER: No, I genuinely do remember you, and I didn’t just read your name tag. Um I have what’s called an eidetic memory. I’m able to recall things with high precision, even if it was a brief period of time on one occasion.

MAGGIE: Really? That’s incredible. I wish I could say the same. All I could remember after being resuscitated was your eyes. I meant to thank you, by the way, for saving me, but at the time I was too in shock. I went to the police department the next day trying to find you, but you weren’t there. And as it turns out, it’s not so easy searching for a pair of hazel eyes.

Spencer smiles.

SPENCER: I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. I’m a Supervisory Special Agent with the Behavior Analysis Unit in Quantico, Virginia.

Hearing his name completely changes her. She says it to herself in disbelief. For years she’s wondered who he was, and now she knows.

MAGGIE: So what brings you back to California?

SPENCER: We finished a case here earlier. I’m just killing time until I go back by reading.

MAGGIE: May I?

Maggie extends her hand to ask for the book politely. Spencer hands it to Maggie. She recognizes it almost immediately.

MAGGIE: Oh, I love Arthur Conan Doyle. This is just one of those novels I wish I could read again for the first time.

Spencer doesn’t respond, he’s just so enamored by the way she thinks and speaks. She misinterprets his silence as a sign that he’d rather not keep talking.

MAGGIE: I should probably let you get back to reading. I wouldn’t want to keep you from the opinionated Everyman John Smith. I hope you have a safe travel home.

Maggie begins to get up from her chair.

SPENCER: Wait um, I don’t normally ask this, but I still have a few hours until my flight and I’d really love to keep talking with you so do you think maybe we could go somewhere or -

MAGGIE: I would love to, but I’m working until the closing shift tonight.

SPENCER: Oh okay.

Maggie is conflicted. Against her better judgement, she agrees.

MAGGIE: You know what? I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.

Excitement rises in Spencer. When Maggie goes into the coffee shop, he tries to contain himself. He fixes his hair and straightens out his cardigan and tie. Maggie comes back out.

MAGGIE: Ever been to the pier?

. . .

Maggie and Spencer are looking out onto the ocean from the pier. It’s one of the rare times that they aren’t being swallowed by a huge crowd. It’s just them, a few other people, and the sunset. An ocean breeze blows through, making Maggie shiver and bump into Spencer.

MAGGIE: My bad. Sorry.

SPENCER: Do you want my -

MAGGIE: No, no I’m fine.

Spencer ignores her statement and drapes his cardigan around her. Though she would never admit it, it sort of smells like him - and it’s the most comforting smell in the world.

MAGGIE: It’s beautiful isn’t it?

Maggie says while looking out to the sunset.

SPENCER: Yeah, it is.

He says while looking at her.

After a couple seconds, she notices him staring, looks at him, smiles, and nudges him.

MAGGIE: It’s getting late. We should head back.

Spencer follows close behind as Maggie leads the way.

MAGGIE: I wish we could’ve hung out longer, but I don’t want to leave Tony running the shop alone for too long and I wouldn’t want you to miss your flight.

SPENCER: For what it’s worth, I enjoyed the little time we did spend together.

MAGGIE: I did, too.

SPENCER: So maybe, when I’m back here, we could make plans.

MAGGIE: I’ll look forward to your return then.

Maggie and Spencer walk a little longer in a comfortable silence, until finally they’re back at the coffee shop.

MAGGIE: Do you have a pen?

Spencer hesitates for a moment, but ultimately, has to place his hand on Maggie’s hip to retrieve the pen inside the pocket. This gesture startles her and causes her to remember that she was wearing his cardigan.

MAGGIE: Oh sorry, I forgot that I was wearing this.

SPENCER: No keep it. It looks better on you anyway. Consider it an early birthday gift. September 8 right?

MAGGIE: How did you- Oh right. Eidetic memory.

Spencer hands her the pen and Maggie reaches for a napkin from the table and writes her number on it.

MAGGIE: So if you’re ever insanely bored at 3 a.m. or you’re not busy saving someone’s life, call me.

Spencer takes the napkin.

SPENCER: Will do.

He tries to mask how excited he really is.

Maggie heads back inside, but stops herself at the door. She turns back to Spencer.

MAGGIE: (genuinely asking) Do you know how often people reconnect without intending to after years of not seeing each other?

SPENCER: Not very often I suppose.

MAGGIE: This could very well just be a huge coincidence, but it really feels like some luck of the universe that I’m talking to you right now. And I think we’ll be seeing each other soon again.

Spencer’s intrigued. As a doctor, he’s pragmatic. Romantic notions such as destiny and luck - he wasn’t a believer of. Even God, he was skeptical of. But he wanted to see Maggie again, even if that meant he had to agree that it was fate after all.

SPENCER: And if we don’t?

Maggie pauses to answer his question.

MAGGIE: Then we will eventually.

Before Maggie opens the door, she notices Spencer pulling money out of his pocket to pay for his coffee. She stops him.

MAGGIE: It’s on the house.

She says with a small smile that’s returned with a grin that creeps upon Spencer’s face. When she fully enters the cafe, Spencer is left alone with his thoughts.

. . .

It’s the next day. The BAU is seated at the round table. Penelope is presenting the case. Reid’s momentarily distracted. He plays with the napkin in his book. It’s the napkin with Maggie’s number on it. His fixation lasts for so long that he misses the presentation entirely. It’s only when JJ asks him a question directly does he tune in and snap out of his trance.

REID: What was the question?

Reid shifts in his seat uncomfortably and tries to hide his confusion by opening up the case file.

ROSSI: You’ve been awfully quiet this morning. A little too quiet. Care to share?

REID: Nothing. Just thinking.

He’s lying and they all know it. The team exchanges suspicious glances.

REID: Sorry, Garcia, could you repeat it one more time?

GARCIA: Why of course! Anything for you, Boy Wonder. A week ago, Brynn Dryer disappeared from her home late at night. 48 hours after she was reported missing, a couple jogging past a lake found her body. In the M.E’s report, there was a terrifyingly large amount of evidence that she was brutally beaten and clubbed. The official C.O.D was blunt force trauma to the head and the lake was nothing more than a disposal site. Less than a day later, Eliza O’ Hara went missing after someone invaded her home. Yesterday local P.D found her in the middle of a field by the highway. Same M.O. The police department is anticipating that when you land, another girl will go missing.

Spencer notices something.

REID: Wait, can you put their pictures side by side?

Garcia does so. Spencer makes a connection.

JJ: What is it, Spence?

REID: The similarities between the two victims are uncanny. Notice the eye color, skin tone, hair style, even down to the freckles they have.

BLAKE: Alright so he’s got an aggression toward brown eyed, tan brunettes with bangs and freckles.

ROSSI: And I have an aggression toward telemarketers but you don’t see me clubbing them to death.

HOTCH: The cooling off period between kills is getting shorter. He’s escalating and we’re going to put a stop to this before he hits his stride. Garcia, you’re coming with us. Wheels up in 30.

The team is leaving the round table.

. . .

The team is on the flight.

HOTCH: JJ, as soon as we land, I need you setting up a press conference to let the women in the area know to be vigilant. After that, we’ll interview the family’s of Eliza and Brynn. I need Blake and Reid working on the geographical profile. Dave, you and Morgan will take a closer look at the bodies and see if you can’t gather more information. And Garcia,

GARCIA: Yes, sir?

HOTCH: Find as many more connections between these women as you can, and contact any other women who fit the victimology.

GARCIA: Yes, sir.

ROSSI: Apparently, it'll be 101 degrees when we land. Remind me again why people live in California?

Reid perks up. He didn’t even know he was going back to California. But now that he does, he’s even more on edge.

. . .

Reid works on the geographical profile, while Blake assists from her chair. There’s something off about Reid, and she’s about to find out what.

BLAKE: Hey, you alright, Reid? You seem like you’re a million miles away.

Reid stops working on the map. He turns around to face Blake.

REID: I met this girl yesterday. She was actually a former victim I resuscitated. And before I left, she said she had a feeling we would see each other again soon.

Spencer pauses and purses his lips.

SPENCER: She looks just like the other victims.

BLAKE: So you’re worried that when you see her again, it’ll be because of this case.

REID: Do . . . do you think I could call her? To let her know.

BLAKE: I’m not saying I wouldn’t want to break the rules if I were you, but I can’t, in good conscience, advise you to let her know what’s happening. By doing so, you’re giving her an advantage other people don’t have. If she tunes into JJ’s press conference, I’m sure she’ll be safe.

REID: I thought Maeve was gonna be safe too. Look how that turned out.

Blake is at a loss for words. Here she is, the linguist, and yet she can’t find the right words to tell Reid to comfort him.

. . .

JJ sits beside Garcia as Garcia sets up her system.

JJ: Spence has been acting really weird today.

GARCIA: So it’s not just me! I knew something must’ve been wrong because earlier on the flight, I asked if he wanted to play online chess with me and he said no. Can you believe that? I know he’s all anti-tech and everything, but he’s never passed up a game of chess. So that’s why I’ve already done some digging.

JJ gives Garcia the face of “You shouldn’t have done that.”

GARCIA: Okay, but before you say I shouldn’t have, you should see this.

Garcia pulls up a small window on her computer to show to JJ. JJ is shocked.

JJ: A three hour call with his mom last night? Could’ve just been his regular check in.

GARCIA: See that’s what I thought, too, but look.

Garcia scrolls further up the call list.

JJ: He hasn’t called his mom in months.

GARCIA: We all know Reid tells everything to his mom. Something must’ve happened yesterday.

Unbeknownst to Garcia and JJ, Reid walks in.

REID: Hey, guys - what’re you looking at?

It’s too late now. Reid’s already seen it.

REID: You’re keeping tabs on me now? How long have you been monitoring me? Huh?

Anger possesses Reid.

GARCIA: Just since this morning. I only looked at your call history briefly.

REID: Unbelievable.

JJ: We were just worried about you. We all are. There’s obviously something going on.

REID: So then ask me about it. Ever thought of that?

JJ: We’re sorry.

REID: Yeah no, I’m fine, thanks for asking.

Reid storms off from JJ and Garcia.

. . .

Hotch, Rossi, and Morgan all meet Garcia, JJ, and Blake before delivering the profile. Spencer’s missing.

MORGAN: Where’s Pretty boy?

BLAKE: I thought he was going to talk to Jennifer and Garcia.

GARCIA: He did, but something happened . . . he was upset and left. I thought maybe he went back to working on the geo-profile.

HOTCH: Garcia, when did you last speak to him?

GARCIA: Oh, I don’t know, sir, um, maybe fifteen minutes ago?

HOTCH: Morgan, go find Reid. We’ll deliver the profile.

MORGAN: Where should I be looking?

BLAKE: He went to a coffee shop yesterday. I’m not sure which one, but it’s a start.

. . .

Reid is frantically entering the coffee shop. He scans the room for Maggie but doesn’t see her.

TONY: Hey, what can I get for you?

SPENCER: Is Maggie here?

TONY: Who’s asking?

SPENCER: (flashing his badge) I’m Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI. Let me ask you again, where’s Maggie?

TONY: Didn’t show up today.

SPENCER: Did she call in sick?

TONY: Nope.

SPENCER: When was the last time you saw her?

TONY: Last night when we were working the closing shift.

SPENCER: Do you know how she got home?

TONY: She walked. I tried to offer her a ride, but she said she likes to walk. Something about clearing the mind.

SPENCER: Did she walk alone?

TONY: Mhm.

Spencer’s mind swirls. He is living his worst nightmare all over again. When he turns around and sees Derek pulling up. Reid rushes out of the coffee shop and hops into the passenger seat immediately. Derek doesn’t even question it.

REID: Drive. I need Garcia on the phone.

Derek dials her.

GARCIA: Did you find Rei-

REID: (cutting her off) Garcia, I need you to look up Magnolia Tate. Get me her address.

MORGAN: What is it, Reid?

REID: She didn’t show up to work today. Her coworker said the last time he saw her was when she was walking home. She fits the victimology. Garcia, the address?

GARCIA: 178 Citrus Boulevard. Be safe.

REID: Thank you, Garcia.

GARCIA: Of course. And, Reid?

REID: Yeah?

GARCIA: I’m really super-duper sorry about earlier.

REID: It’s fine. I know you guys were just looking out for me.

Reid can sense Garcia smiling through the phone so he promptly hangs up knowing their business is resolved.

MORGAN: Reid, there is a good chance this could just be a coincidence.

REID: I’m telling you - nothing with this girl is just a coincidence.

MORGAN: Well, have you called her yet?

REID: No.

MORGAN: Then call her now, Reid.

REID: I can’t.

MORGAN: Yes, you can.

REID: I can’t.

MORGAN: Why not?

REID: I’m scared that if I call her, I won’t be able to stop, and I’ll want to keep talking to her, but I can’t do that. Not when I know what it’s like loving something death can touch.

MORGAN: Is this about Maeve?

REID: It’s always about Maeve! Morgan, I watched her die in front of me. And just knowing that right now I could be in the same position -

MORGAN: Listen, I know how guilty you feel about Maeve. Man, I feel guilty about her, too, but you gotta understand that if this is connected to our case, you’re gonna save her. Trust me on this.

REID: Yeah, okay.

MORGAN: So how do you two know each other?

REID: She was actually a previous victim of ours. Nearly a decade ago, I performed CPR after her ex-boyfriend pushed her off the boat, bound and gagged. They were out on the lake watching the Fourth of July firework show, but a witness recognized her from the news, which ultimately saved her life. Prior to that, he killed practically all of her next of kin because he believed they were responsible for the restraining order she filed against him.

MORGAN: Why’d he risk taking her out in public?

REID: He was recreating their first date. How do you not remember this?

MORGAN: Actually, now that you mention it, I do remember the case. Cause you made that stupid joke that he was trying to reignite a spark.

Reid makes an offended/sad face. Morgan smiles.

REID: You know, taking into consideration how much emotional trauma we’ve been through combined, there is a very real possibility that our relationship would be, for lack of a better word, doomed. She has no parents, my mom has schizophrenia. We’ve both been held hostage. I’ve been hospitalized, and she’s potentially been abducted for a second time.

MORGAN: Seems like the perfect fit to me.

REID: I’m being serious.

MORGAN: I am, too.

REID: Statistically, 40% of all long distance relationships end up failing in some way, including relationships where the partners are married. And of that 40%, 70% of these failures occur because of unplanned circumstances that happen to one of the participants in a relationship. Unplanned circumstances are practically a part of our line of work. Not to mention, most long distance relationships survive on two in-person visits per month. But relying on getting two cases in California per month is completely unrealistic.

MORGAN: Kid, you can give me all the statistics and numbers to convince me why you shouldn’t be together, but the one thing you haven’t said is that you don’t like her.

REID: Fine, I don’t like her.

MORGAN: Then why am I driving to her house?

Reid pauses, not ready to admit he’s wrong.

REID: Because this could be a lead on the case.

MORGAN: Whatever you say, Pretty Boy.

After a long period of time, Reid finally speaks.

REID: At first, I only noticed her because she looked like Maeve. Even when we were talking, it felt like I was talking to Maeve again. But then, she surprised me. She said that seeing me again felt like a “luck of the universe.” That’s when I realized, she’s not a girl who reminds me of Maeve. She’s her own person. She’s Maggie.

MORGAN: See that wasn’t so hard now was it?

REID: I will crush you.

. . .

Morgan and Reid are walking up the flight of stairs to get to Maggie’s apartment.

MORGAN: Remind me again of the plan. Because realistically, she could just be playing hooky or be out somewhere else.

REID: Once we get to her apartment, if she’s not there, I’ll call.

MORGAN: Have we thought about what we’re gonna say if she is there? Oh sorry ma’am, we thought you were kidnapped.

REID: I’ll figure it out.

Reid and Morgan are in her hallway. Morgan knocks on her door, but the door moves when he knocks on it. It’s open. Morgan and Reid exchange glances. Morgan reaches for his gun as he cautiously opens the door wider to enter. When they do, there’s no one inside. But there was an obvious sign of a struggle. A glass vase has been smashed.

REID: Call Hotch. I’ll call her.

Morgan goes to the side to let Hotch know.

REID: (to himself) Please pick up. Please pick up.

MAGGIE: (her voicemail) Hey, it’s Mags. Sorry I couldn’t get to the phone right now, but if you leave a message I’ll call you back when I can.

Hearing Maggie’s voice almost makes him want to break down in tears, but he composes himself.

MORGAN: Reid, we gotta go. Garcia found something.

. . .

Hotch, JJ, Blake, Rossi, and Garcia are all together in the conference room while on the phone with Reid and Morgan.

MORGAN: What’d you find, Baby Girl?

GARCIA: Well after doing some digging, I unearthed Marcus Linden and Toby Forthword. Who are they you may ask? Good question. They are Eliza O’Hara and Brynn Dryer’s sons. And you’re probably thinking, they have children? Yes indeedio they do. The reason I didn’t find this earlier was because when Brynn and Eliza were teen moms, they set up closed adoptions for their sons before they were born. I’ve been trying to find any contact they might’ve made with the agency or their kids since the adoptions, but I haven’t been able to. I thought that was weird, but I started searching for other women that fit the criteria, and would you believe - there was one.

The pause Garcia takes before saying it, tells Reid it’s Maggie.

GARCIA: Magnolia Tate.

Reid is at a loss for words. His mind is trying to wrap about what he’s hearing, but it’s all so much.

HOTCH: Could you find any more connections?

GARCIA: A week before the abductions, all three of them went to a clinic for women who were pregnant or planning to be.

Reid bites his lips as he tries to grasp it all.

REID: Is she pregnant?

All of them know who he’s referring to.

JJ: Spence . . . they all were.

If Reid’s jaw could be on the floor, it would. Even Morgan winced as JJ revealed the news. A moment of silence falls over the group as they all feel for Spencer. Hotch is the first to speak after nearly a minute of not.

HOTCH: Apply those precedents to teen mothers in the early 2000s and cross it with women that gave birth to sons who ended up in the system instead of being adopted.

MORGAN: Baby girl, look at kids that are around 18-20 now. He would’ve been recently freed from the system. He’ll most likely have a history of anger management issues or disciplinary issues.

ROSSI: The mother might also be recently deceased.

JJ: There’s your stressor.

BLAKE: With the death of his biological mother, he wouldn’t get the answers he wanted. He’d look for them from the women that his mother is similar to. Brynn, Eliza, and Magnolia all serve as surrogates. Garcia, he’d be aiming to work in the system. Not only would he want to prevent other kids from going through what he did, but it would also explain how he found them.

JJ: You know the fact that all three women were pregnant could account for his anger. To him, that’s the ultimate form of betrayal. Giving their son up, only to have another child in the future to keep.

GARCIA: Got it.

Spencer is still trying to process. He stays quiet as he fiddles with the napkin. It almost appears as though he might tear it.

. . .

Maggie’s balled up in a corner, hugging her knees. She’s badly beaten. She’s bleeding, her eyes are swollen from crying and she’s looking down at her stomach. The unsub is standing, watching this.

UNSUB: Don’t cry, Magnolia. I wouldn’t have done that if you just answered me.

MAGGIE: You killed my baby!

UNSUB: And I’ll do more if you don’t answer me!

MAGGIE: Please . . . I can’t give you the answers you want. I’m not your mother.

UNSUB: If you don’t answer me, I’ll hurt your little boy. I’ve been watching him very closely. His name is Elijah Martin, cute kid by the way. Quite the over-achieving 12 year old. He’s in soccer and track and field. Wanna see his school picture?

Maggie closes her eyes and turns her head so she doesn’t have to see.

UNSUB: See, Magnolia, what you’re going through right now, is only a fraction of what I had to go through in my foster homes. I was tortured, bullied, abused. All because that old hag didn’t want to make the sacrifice to be a mother. So answer me this, how could you give him up?

MAGGIE: I may not have made the sacrifice to be a mother, but I did make a sacrifice the day I chose not to be his. I wanted to keep him. I cried when I watched him leave with that other family. But I couldn’t be the mother he needed.

UNSUB: Why haven’t you called him? Or tried to get him back?

MAGGIE: Reaching out would’ve done more harm than good. Not knowing who I am, or who his father was, meant that we could never stand in the way of his future. He can reach his fullest potential - free of mine or Charlie’s hindrance.

The unsub understands Maggie. She’s gotten through to him. But he still carries anger. He groans in frustration and grabs Maggie by the collar of her shirt.

UNSUB: We’re gonna take a little trip.

. . .

The BAU is at the local Police Department. Garcia is reading to them what she’s found.

GARCIA: I know a textbook serial killer when I see one. His name is Ray Lewis-Fernandez. Throughout his time in foster care, he was a troublemaker. He never stayed for more than a month in a group home. Quite a Dennis the Menace, according to his foster families. It also says here that he got caught on multiple occasions trying to get his file so he could find his mother. Her name was Shawna Heights, and I say “was” because she passed away exactly two weeks before he was emancipated.

MORGAN: So this guy is finally able to find his mother on his own, only to realize he missed her by two weeks.

GARCIA: Talk about bad luck. But that isn’t even the worst of it. If Ray did do some digging after his emancipation, he would’ve discovered that Shawna had two sons and a daughter only a few years after he was born.

JJ: Did he try to contact them?

GARCIA: No, but that’s the surprising part. I profiled him wanting to reach out and be one big ol’ happy family, but then I remembered I’m not a profiler.

REID: Wait, that might actually be it.

Everyone is shocked to hear Spencer speak up.

GARCIA: Wait, I’m right?

REID: Foster families mentioned he’d been trying to find his mother but at the core of its meaning - he’s trying to find family. If his mission is to find family, he wouldn’t stay away unless he had to. Garcia, check if there’s a restraining order on Ray.

GARCIA: Bingo, Boy Wonder! Malcolm, Shawna’s husband, filed it against him just days after Shawna’s funeral.

REID: The restraining order means he can’t come within a certain distance of the kids, right? So he wouldn’t risk it all just to have lunch with them or send a letter. Think about it - high risk, high reward. Ray would only violate the order, if he could have them completely. But in order to not get caught, he’ll use maternal figures to lure them. They just lost their mother and seeing or talking to someone so similar to Shawna would make them that much more susceptible. But Brynn and Eliza are both mothers who have given up their sons. This means they know what inadequate guardians look like. They’re aware the kids are better off with Malcolm, and they won’t be responsible for abducting them and placing them under Ray’s care. It would completely go against their own reasoning for giving away their children. Their refusal to help him execute the plan angers him to the point of murder. He isn’t just killing because they’re surrogates for his rage, but because they refuse to help him achieve his goal.

ROSSI: The kids are his endgame.

BLAKE: All he’s wanted is a family. Now that he knows he has one that hasn’t already betrayed him, he’ll stop at nothing to have them.

HOTCH: What’s the address, Garcia?

GARCIA: Already sent it, sir.

The BAU rushes out of the conference room.

. . .

Maggie and Ray are sitting in his car. They’re watching the three children play - staking them out. Malcolm - their father, is nowhere to be seen. We’re to assume he’s at work while they’re at home.

RAY: You see the boy with the red hoodie? That’s Malcolm Jr. He’s the oldest. Same age as your boy. Then Evan is the middle child. He’s eight. But the baby - she’s my favorite. Her name is Ariel cause of her red hair. She’s six.

Maggie smiles for a split second before frowning.

MAGGIE: You don’t have to do this.

RAY: And I’m not. Because you will.

Maggie breaks her gaze from the children to look at Ray with shock.

MAGGIE: No, no, no I’m not kidnapping them. I won’t do it.

Ray retrieves his gun and points it at her stomach.

RAY: You had a chance to have your family with Elijah. But you gave him up. Now that I have a chance, you’re gonna help me.

MAGGIE: What if I don’t?

RAY: You’re smart. Figure it out.

MAGGIE: I will not be taunted with death if I don’t help you take someone else’s babies away. So go ahead, kill me. I’ve got nothing left to live for anyway.

A gunshot.

Standing in front of the car, is Malcom with his shotgun. The windshield is shattered by a single bullet that penetrated it. Malcolm fired a shot right through Ray’s head. Maggie is alive and in complete and total shock. Once Malcolm knows he’s dead he rushes to her door to help her.

MALCOM: You have to unlock it.

Maggie is forced to reach over Ray’s dead body and unlock the car. When she does, Malcolm helps her exit the vehicle. Maggie’s seen putting pressure on her stomach to stop the bleeding.

Within seconds of escaping, police SUV’s arrive. Spencer is the first to run out of the car.

Relief overcomes Maggie.

MAGGIE: Spencer!

She stops him before he can hug her.

MAGGIE: No wait! I’m bleeding.

Spencer ignores this and embraces her. Maggie sobs hysterically when he does.

MAGGIE: He . . . he killed my -

SPENCER: Shh, I know. I know. I’m here now, okay?

Neither of them pull away.

MAGGIE: Oh my god. I can’t believe you’re here. I knew I’d see you again.

SPENCER: Yeah, you did. You were right Mags.

These words make Maggie shut her eyes and smile.

Hotch approaches the pair from behind.

HOTCH: Miss Tate, there’s an ambulance here for you. Let’s get you to a hospital.

Maggie nods as Spencer helps her limp to a stretcher.

When she situates herself and is lifted into the back of the ambulance, Spencer turns to Hotch.

SPENCER: Can I -

HOTCH: Yes, yes, go. We’ll meet you there.

Spencer enters the back of the ambulance and sits beside Maggie as they ride to the hospital together.

MAGGIE: You’re coming?

Spencer nods and gives a small reassuring smile.

Another tear escapes her eyes as she smiles through the oxygen mask to thank him.

. . .

The entire team is seated in a waiting room. Spencer is standing up and pacing as he waits for the doctor.

A doctor soon enters.

DOCTOR: Is there a Spencer Reid?

Spencer comes over quickly.

SPENCER: That’s me.

DOCTOR: Come with me, sir.

Spencer follows the Doctor.

DOCTOR: Luckily, the lacerations didn’t travel far enough to do a significant amount of damage that would require surgery, but we did have to perform a blood transfusion due to the amount of blood she lost.

SPENCER: How’s the baby?

DOCTOR: It was too early to tell the sex of the baby before she miscarried. She’s awake now and has been asking for you.

SPENCER: Thanks.

The doctor leaves as soon as Spencer knocks on the door.

SPENCER: (quietly) Maggie?

Maggie’s face lights up when she sees him.

MAGGIE: Hey you.

Spencer pulls a chair closer to Maggie’s bedside to take her hand and kiss the back of it. She smiles as he does this.

SPENCER: How are you feeling?

MAGGIE: Is it possible to feel incredibly lucky and incredibly lucky at the same time?

Spencer gives her that small reassuring smile.

MAGGIE: I’ll be okay.

SPENCER: Good.

MAGGIE: I’m starting to regret not letting Tony take me home.

Maggie and Spencer share a laugh.

SPENCER: Yeah, I think you should let him drive you from now on.

MAGGIE: Yeah, you’re probably right, but I don't think I want to work there anymore. Or even live here for that matter.

SPENCER: I don’t blame you.

MAGGIE: I grew up here, but it doesn’t feel like home anymore.

SPENCER: Where are you thinking of going?

MAGGIE: Well, I completed my bachelor’s degree to become an English teacher, but I never applied to any schools. I think in my gut I knew I didn’t want a job to tie me down here, otherwise I’d never leave California - no matter how much I should. So realistically anywhere that’s offering positions to English teachers is ideal.

Hearing Maggie’s an English major doesn’t surprise Spencer.

SPENCER: You know, when I go back to D.C, I can find open teaching positions for you. Moving there would be a big change, but I think you’d feel safer at least.

MAGGIE: I think I would too. And I wouldn’t mind the change. Getting a couple thousand miles closer to you doesn’t sound so bad.

Spencer cheekily grins.

SPENCER: Yeah?

Maggie nods.

Hotch enters the room.

HOTCH: It’s time.

Reid nods and turns back to Maggie.

SPENCER: I’ll see you soon.

MAGGIE: Can’t wait.

SPENCER: Goodbye, Maggie.

He sits up and kisses her forehead. For a moment, he rests his forehead on hers. Maggie smiles when he does this little gesture.

MAGGIE: Thank you.

Spencer nods and shuts the door behind him when he leaves.

With a heavy heart, Spencer leaves the hospital.

. . .

On the plane back, everyone is asleep besides Spencer and Hotch.

HOTCH: How is she?

SPENCER: She’ll be okay, but I can’t seem to figure out why. I thought she’d be broken. And I think deep down she is, but when she smiles, she isn’t faking it.

HOTCH: “Sometimes the ones who have the brightest smiles are the ones who have known and endured deep darkness.”

SPENCER: Dodinsky. (the author of the quote)

. . .

It’s been a week since Spencer has visited Maggie, but he’s back now. Maggie is lying on her hospital bed, with Spencer entering her room. He hides something behind his back.

SPENCER: Knock! Knock! I brought you something.

MAGGIE: Oooh, fun!

Spencer pulls out headbands with the words “Fourth of July” in block letters.

SPENCER: Here.

He slides one on top of her head and puts the other on himself.

MAGGIE: What’s this for?

SPENCER: Sometimes when we go through something traumatic, we subconsciously link the tragic event with the date it happened on. It happens most often with death anniversaries, birthdays, or in your case, holidays. But I want to make the Fourth of July a good holiday again. So earlier, I asked the doctors if I could take you up to the roof to watch the fireworks.

MAGGIE: Spencer . . .

SPENCER: Humor me.

Maggie’s reluctant but she still reaches out her arms to have Spencer help her out of bed anyway. He wheels over the wheelchair to her and she groans.

MAGGIE: Are you actually gonna make me use that?

SPENCER: I mean, you’re welcome to walk around the hospital with your backless patient gown.

Maggie laughs and complies. Spencer begins to wheel Maggie out of her room and into the elevator that goes up to the roof. When they finally get there, Maggie’s face lights up. There’s a whole picnic set out for the two of them. A blanket with small fixings is laid out for them.

Maggie rises from the wheelchair and turns around to engulf Spencer in the biggest hug.

MAGGIE: Thank you. This is like the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.

Spencer hugs her back even tighter. His hand is on the small of her back, and for a second he can feel her smooth skin, but like the gentleman he is, he tightly wraps Maggie’s hospital gown to cover her exposed skin. A small gesture that to Maggie, does not go unnoticed.

. . .

Maggie and Spencer's backs are lying flat against the blanket. They’re in the middle of a conversation where each of them are smiling.

SPENCER: JJ said that Henry wanted to dress up as his favorite profiler, and he came into the office as me. I even gave him my badge.

MAGGIE: That is adorable! I can’t wait to have kids and celebrate Halloween with them.

Spencer goes quiet, making Maggie realize what she said.

MAGGIE: Oh, gosh, sorry I did not mean for that to take a dark turn.

SPENCER: Do you want to talk about it?

Maggie pauses.

MAGGIE: Um, I mean, sometimes I get sad, but for the most part I’m okay. I think I’ve finally accepted that it happened. You know, I’m actually sort of relieved that I didn’t carry the baby full term, because could you imagine how complicated that would be? Yeah, it’s . . . it’s better this way. And I’ve always wanted a family, but if I had that sperm donor’s baby, I wouldn’t have a family, it’d just be me and the baby. But I want my child to grow up with a father, you know?

Yes, Reid does know. He wishes his father was around.

SPENCER: Yeah, I do.

MAGGIE: What about you? Do you want kids?

SPENCER: Absolutely. It’s funny because I always say that I could never picture myself leaving my job and I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. But if I had kids, they’d be the exception. I, uh,

Spencer lightly laughs and looks down.

SPENCER: Yeah, I don’t know, I just really want to be a dad one day.

MAGGIE: You’d be a really good dad. I mean that.

Originally, Maggie and Spencer were both looking up at the sky, but after Spencer turned his head and Maggie turned hers, their faces were only inches away. Spencer licks his lips as he contemplates kissing her. But he pivots. He smiles and kisses her forehead.

Simultaneously, a firework goes off, startling the duo. Maggie laughs in excitement.

SPENCER: Did you know that at MIT, one of the lessons they taught students earning their degree in chemistry was how to make a firework?

MAGGIE: You know how to make one? What do they use to make the colors?

SPENCER: Good question. To create certain colors, different physical elements are used. Magnesium creates a bright white light, like that one right there. While strontium and lithium each showcase a different shade of red, like the first one we saw. But the most dangerous colors to form, blues and greens, are formed from barium and copper.

Spencer’s explanation continues for a little longer. The view above the pair zooms out. They’re just two small people on the roof of the hospital.

. . .

Spencer is in his apartment. He’s on the phone with Maggie.

MAGGIE: So I’m looking at an apartment in Manassas right now. It’s only half an hour away from the school and it’s a 45 minute drive from your apartment.

SPENCER: You’re not very good at changing the subject, Maggie. Even now, I can read your body language.

MAGGIE: I’m not changing the subject. I’m just mentioning my other options that are unrelated to the one you proposed.

SPENCER: Wow, is the idea of living with me really that bad?

MAGGIE: No! I would love to live with you.

SPENCER: But?

MAGGIE: But you’ve already done so much. You’ve saved my life twice, visited me every week I’ve been in the hospital, made the Fourth of July fun again, and helped me find a great teaching job over there. So I am sincerely grateful, but moving in with you would feel like taking advantage of your good heart. You’ve done a lot for me already, okay? I can take care of myself from now on.

SPENCER: Okay, think of it instead as a mutualistic relationship. We both receive net benefits from moving in. You wouldn’t be taking advantage of me because I’d be gaining something from it, too. I’d have a roommate and my rent would dichotomize. And for you, you’ll only be driving 15 minutes to work instead of 30.

MAGGIE: Did you ever consider being a lawyer? You’re quite convincing.

SPENCER: So is that a yes?

MAGGIE: It’s a “Yes I’ll move in with you but only if Plan A doesn’t pan out.”

SPENCER: Promise me you’ll think about it.

MAGGIE: Okay, fine. I’ll think about it.

SPENCER: Say it.

MAGGIE: I promise.

Spencer yawns. Maggie hears it.

MAGGIE: What time is it over there?

SPENCER: 11:54.

MAGGIE: Spencer! Why didn’t you tell me? You should’ve been asleep like two hours ago.

SPENCER: I’ll be fine. I don’t have to be at work until 7.

MAGGIE: You of all people know how bad it is to get less than 8 hours of sleep. I’m gonna hang up now so you can at least get 6.

SPENCER: Then I’ll call back.

MAGGIE: Then I’ll decline.

SPENCER: Fine, if I go to sleep, you have to agree to consider living with me as more than a Plan B.

MAGGIE: I already said I would!

SPENCER: Mmm no. I’m not really feeling it. You have to say it nicely.

MAGGIE: If you sleep now, I’ll consider living with you as more than a backup plan.

SPENCER: Music to my ears. Sleep well, Maggie.

MAGGIE: Sweet dreams, Spencer.

Spencer lets Maggie hang up. Let it be known, that he has never once ended a call.

. . .

It’s a few weeks later. Maggie’s finally out of the hospital. It’s official that she has the teacher job - no interview required thanks to Garcia. Currently, she and Spencer are packing the last of her things away into boxes in preparation for the cross country move she’s making tomorrow.

MAGGIE: I know I’m still a little fragile, but the doctor said I’m all clear to resume normal activities. So would you please let me help you with the boxes?

SPENCER: Mmm, I don’t think so.

MAGGIE: Need I remind you that I’ve been through worse than packing?

SPENCER: That would violate our designated jobs! I pack the boxes - you label them, remember?

Spencer picks up a book from her shelf and reads the spine of it. From the looks of how empty the bookshelf is, he’s been packing away the books this entire time they’ve been packing.

SPENCER: By the way, I love your book collection. Very diverse. But the way you’ve organized them is peculiar, though.

MAGGIE: What do you mean? Each shelf is categorized by genre.

SPENCER: No, I figured that out, but why not in alphabetical order? Cause, see, you have several books from Dickens, but they’re sporadic on your shelves. And again with Austen and Steinbeck, you have several of their books, so organizing by last name means that all the books by the same author would be together.

MAGGIE: Alright then, when I move, you can organize my bookshelf.

SPENCER: Sweet!

MAGGIE: I was joki-

Maggie notices that Spencer actually takes pleasure in organizing her books, so she refrains from saying she’s joking.

MAGGIE: Can I see a box? I forgot I have stuff on my fridge still to take down.

SPENCER: Here.

Spencer hands Maggie a box. Maggie begins to fill the box with her fridge magnets, postcards, and small reminders she put on her fridge. Only one picture is left on the fridge - a sonogram picture. Maggie had completely forgotten it was even there. But she drops the box immediately and pulls it off, placing it close to her chest.

SPENCER: You okay?

Maggie pauses for a moment cherishing the picture.

MAGGIE: Yeah.

SPENCER: What is it?

Spencer comes over.

MAGGIE: I thought I threw this away, but I guess I didn’t. It was my first sonogram.

SPENCER: Oh, from a few weeks ago?

MAGGIE: No - years ago. This is Elijah’s.

Maggie smiles when she sees the picture.

SPENCER: I think you should keep it - the picture I mean.

MAGGIE: Yeah, I think I might. I mean, if it’s stayed with me all these years, no sense in throwing it away now.

Maggie puts the picture at the top of the pile in the box.

. . .

Maggie and Spencer are on the plane heading to Virginia. Reid’s reading and Maggie is sorting through some papers with an earbud in one ear.

MAGGIE: Before we left, I contacted the landlord for that apartment in Manassas weeks ago, but he never got back to me.

SPENCER: I guess it’s a good thing you have a Plan B then.

Spencer smirks.

MAGGIE: Remind me again that we mutually benefit so I don’t feel so guilty that you’re constantly helping me but I can never find the opportunity to pay you back.

SPENCER: Stop it, okay. I want you to move in with me.

MAGGIE: I snore really loudly.

SPENCER: Completely okay.

MAGGIE: I take long showers.

SPENCER: Not a problem.

MAGGIE: Late at night, I’ll get random bursts of energy and get really hyper and bothersome.

SPENCER: So do I.

Maggie groans in frustration.

MAGGIE: I feel like you know the reason why I don’t want to move in with you, but even I don’t know why.

SPENCER: It’s quite simple actually. You’ve spent nearly a decade living alone. And because of that, you think you prefer isolation over having company. But in reality, you’re just scared. Because the last time you were surrounded by a lot of people, they eventually died, essentially abandoning you. And it might not seem like it, but I know exactly what that feels like. To be scared of abandonment.

MAGGIE: Really?

SPENCER: When I was three, my dad left me and my mom. And a year ago, my girlfriend was shot in front of me.

Maggie’s speechless.

SPENCER: You and I - we’re scared to let people in and get attached to them. The reason is because we’re afraid to suffer or let go. So, we think, in order to protect ourselves, we have to stay away from the people we’re getting attached to - which is hard because it is equivalent to avoiding the privilege of becoming happy. So we’re caught in the middle of which pain we’d rather endure - the pain caused by unhappiness and loneliness, or the pain that we know, nobody will ever be strong enough to stand against - the pain of letting go.

Maggie’s astonished.

MAGGIE: If our love could’ve saved them, they would’ve lived forever.

A tear rolls down Maggie’s cheek. Spencer uses the pad of his thumb to brush it away.

. . .

Maggie and Spencer are at the baggage claim of the Virginia Airport. Maggie yawns and leans into Spencer, who puts his arm around her and comfortingly rubs her.

SPENCER: Tired?

MAGGIE: Extremely.

SPENCER: We can get coffee on the way home.

MAGGIE: Are you reading my mind right now?

Spencer laughs.

Maggie sees her suitcase come through on the conveyor belt. Maggie lifts her baggage up, and they begin to exit the airport.

. . .

Spencer is driving and Maggie is in the passenger seat, trying to fight her sleepiness.

SPENCER: Tell me about your parents.

Maggie’s surprised by not unwilling.

MAGGIE: My mom’s name was Amina. She met my dad, Sonny, in college, and had me when she was 24, but he took off when she got pregnant. At first, I didn’t mind it just being the two of us, but when I was seven, there was a father-daughter dance at my school. I wrote him a letter inviting him to it. He didn’t show up, of course. Not that I really expected him to, but ever since then, I’ve resented him. My mom used to say that he was the reason why I dated Charlie. She said that I never got to see an example of what a good man looks like or how a girl should be treated. In hindsight, she was totally right.

SPENCER: How did she react to your pregnancy?

MAGGIE: Well, at first she said she was gonna slap Charlie, but she wasn’t even really mad at me. Instead, she just said that if I wanted to have a future and if I wanted the baby to have a good future, I should set up an adoption. Later that same year, she helped me file a restraining order on Charlie. My mom was always looking out for me. It felt like she always knew what the right choice was.

SPENCER: She sounds like a really good person.

MAGGIE: And she was. I just wish I told her that more often. Growing up, I thought one day I’d get a job and become rich enough to support the both of us. I’d even buy her a range rover - it was a car she wanted since forever. I never got to do that for her, but she used to say to me, “Some people are so poor, all they have is money.” And I think about that everyday. I was never spoiled or born with a golden spoon, but we were so rich in love. She loved me so much, that she’s the reason I wanted to have a baby. Just days after her death anniversary, I visited the clinic. It’s silly, but I just wanted to be half as good a mother as she was.

SPENCER: I feel the same way about my mom. I wanted to grow up and create a cure for schizophrenia by the time I was 29. And even though I’m far from doing so, I��m not giving up hope that I still can.

MAGGIE: Does she live here?

SPENCER: She’s in a facility in Vegas.

MAGGIE: Well, if I ever find myself in Nevada, I’d really like to thank her for raising the perfect son.

Spencer gaily smiles.

SPENCER: Would you maybe want to visit her with me one day?

Maggie nods.

SPENCER: You two would have a lot to talk about. She was a former professor of 15th century literature.

MAGGIE: Does she still hold lectures?

SPENCER: She does. I attended one of them years ago. It completely changed my perspective. I realized that I owe all of who I am today to her.

MAGGIE: Then we have to attend one of her lectures when we visit.

SPENCER: She’ll be so happy when I let her know.

Maggie and Spencer continue to talk about literature.

. . .

Now in a coffee shop, Maggie and Spencer are nursing their drinks at a table in the corner of the cafe.

MAGGIE: Earlier, we were talking about your mom a lot, but on the plane, we spoke about your dad leaving when you were really little.

SPENCER: Yeah, um, eventually he wrote a letter saying that he just didn’t know how to be a dad to me anymore. That and he couldn’t deal with my mom’s paranoid schizophrenia anymore.

MAGGIE: I’m sorry to hear that. I know it’s not easy growing up without a dad.

SPENCER: He’s partly the reason I want to have kids. I want to be the dad mine never was.

Maggie nods.

SPENCER: I’m not as mad as I used to be about it. Over time, I slowly stopped caring about him.

MAGGIE: As you should.

SPENCER: Um, we still have an hour before we’re home so-

MAGGIE: Yeah, no of course. Lemme just use the bathroom really quick before we go.

Maggie leaves her phone and her coffee cup at the table. Spencer sips from his drink but stops when he sees Maggie’s phone ringing. The call’s number has a familiar area code. Spencer instantly recognizes it from Manassas. He realizes that the caller is the landlord from the apartment in Manassas that Maggie said hadn’t gotten back to her. He looks at the bathroom and sees Maggie isn’t back yet, so he declines and deletes the call.

He wants Maggie to live with him, and knowing the landlord called her back would ruin any chances of that happening. And Spencer wasn’t taking any chances.

. . .

Maggie and Spencer are finally at his apartment. They’re climbing the flight of stairs, with Spencer carrying Maggie’s backpack for her - like a gentleman. When they reach his door, Spencer unlocks it and opens it for her to walk through first. In that same breath, confetti comes flying.

Maggie is startled by this, but comes to realize that the entire BAU is in his apartment. A banner hangs behind the team saying “Welcome!”

She laughs and goes to greet each of them.

JJ: I’m JJ.

Maggie shakes her hand.

MAGGIE: Maggie Tate. Nice to meet you.

MORGAN: Derek Morgan. I’ve heard a lot about you.

MAGGIE: All good things I hope.

HOTCH: Aaron Hotchner.

MAGGIE: Right of course. I remember you from the day you guys found me.

BLAKE: Alex Blake. Nice to finally meet you.

MAGGIE: Likewise.

ROSSI: David Rossi. Spencer’s Italian grandpa.

Maggie laughs and Rossi greets her by kissing each of her cheeks.

ROSSI: Got any Italian blood in you?

MAGGIE: Oh, I wish. Half Filipino, half Mexican.

ROSSI: A beautiful mix nonetheless.

Finally, Maggie meets Penelope. Before Maggie can even say anything, Penelope envelopes her in a huge hug.

MAGGIE: You must be Penelope!

She pulls away.

GARCIA: At your service.

MAGGIE: I really like your glasses. Cool color.

GARCIA: (to Spencer) I love her already.

Maggie returns to Spencer after all the greetings.

MAGGIE: Did you know they were gonna do this?

SPENCER: I might’ve.

Maggie turns back to everyone.

MAGGIE: I wish I would’ve known I was meeting you all, I would’ve worn something nicer than leggings and jet lag.

They laugh and tell her that it’s not a problem.

GARCIA: So we thought you guys might be hungry, so there’s chips and guac as well as other little snacks.

MAGGIE: It’s crazy, because I was craving just that.

Penelope gasps and smiles. She extends her arm for Maggie to wrap her arm around.

GARCIA: Well then let’s dig in.

Garcia leads Maggie arm in arm to the food. While Spencer draws back to set her things down. JJ waits up for him.

JJ: She’s pretty.

SPENCER: She is, isn't she? And she’s more than that, too. Everytime we talk, she never fails to surprise me with her wit or mind. She reminds me a lot of you.

JJ smiles as Spencer and her rejoin the group.

. . .

It’s almost the evening now, and Maggie and Spencer are bidding each guest goodbye. The last one to leave is of course Penelope. But when she does, Spencer and Maggie are alone again. Spencer shuts the door behind Garcia, and turns and presses his back to it and sighs. Maggie exhales too.

SPENCER: I’m sorry about that. I didn’t think this would last for as long as it did.

MAGGIE: No, no don’t apologize. I like spending time with them. I’m pretty sure Garcia’s energy cured my jet lag.

Spencer laughs and walks back to Maggie.

MAGGIE: I think I’m gonna go shower now. Try to wash off the flight from me.

Spencer nods and leads her to the bathroom.

SPENCER: Just turn this knob to the left if you want it hotter, and to the right if you want cold water. When you’re done just press down on this.

Spencer presses on the little knob, and when he does, the shower sprays him with water and sprays Maggie, too. She squeals and begins to laugh when she sees Spencer’s hair is drenched. It’s all stringy and in his face, so she pushes it back to see his smiling face. She leaves her hands around his cheeks, cupping his face.

MAGGIE: Well that’s one way to get wet!

SPENCER: Oh yeah? What’s the other?

The delivery of his innuedo is so subtly seductive. Maggie dismisses it and laughs instead.

MAGGIE: Um, just tell me where the towels are and I can bring you one to dry your hair.

He points her in the direction and Maggie promptly leaves the bathroom. When she does, Spencer sees himself in the mirror and realizes just how ridiculous he looks. But on the inside, he feels doubly ridiculous. He’s so embarrassed from what he just said that his cheeks turn red.

. . .

Spencer is cleaning up what was left of the welcoming party. He’s in the kitchen, when he hears Maggie exit the shower. Her hair is damp and stringy, and she’s drying it with a towel. Spencer notices the clothes she’s wearing. She has on sweatpants and to his surprise, his shirt.

MAGGIE: I forgot my pajamas were with the moving truck. I hope you don’t mind.

SPENCER: Not at all.

Maggie thanks him with a smile and walks a little more into the living room. She notices that the couch has a blanket and pillows on it.

MAGGIE: What is this?

SPENCER: What do you mean?

MAGGIE: Are you gonna sleep out here?

SPENCER: Yeah, why?

MAGGIE: No.

SPENCER: No what?

MAGGIE: No, you’re not sleeping on your couch in your own apartment. I won’t let you.

SPENCER: It’s fine really. I’ve slept on it before.

MAGGIE: Do you not want to share a bed?

SPENCER: No, it’s not about that. I just want you to have the bed to yourself.

MAGGIE: If anything, I should be sleeping on the couch because I’m a guest.

SPENCER: No, I’m serious. I’ll sleep out here.

MAGGIE: Okay fine.

Maggie dramatically flops onto the couch.

MAGGIE: Then I’ll join you.

Spencer sighs and shakes his head.

SPENCER: You’re really gonna sleep on the couch with me?

MAGGIE: Mhm.

SPENCER: Why are you being so stubborn?

MAGGIE: Why are you being so stubborn?

SPENCER: Are you just gonna repeat what I’m saying?

MAGGIE: Are you just gonna repeat what I’m saying?

SPENCER: You’re acting childish.

Spencer comes over to Maggie. He stands in front of her, towering over her small figure.

MAGGIE: You’re acting childish.

SPENCER: Stop repeating what I’m saying.

MAGGIE: Stop repeating what I’m saying.

SPENCER: I mean it, Maggie!

She shoots up from the couch and makes a grumpy face to imitate Spencer. Their bodies are so close.

MAGGIE: I mean it, Maggie!

Spencer takes the opportunity of their closeness and uses it to put his arms behind her back and swoop her up - bridal style. Maggie squeals and tries to squirm out of his arms, but he resists and carries her all the way into the bedroom. He tosses her onto the bed and starts to tickle at her sides.

MAGGIE: Stop! Stop!

Maggie’s laughing so hard, she’s breathless.

SPENCER: Not until you agree to sleep in the bed.

MAGGIE: I want to sleep on the couch with you!

SPENCER: Well I guess I’m gonna keep tickling you then.

Maggie laughs so hard she’s almost in tears. Suddenly, she sees a window of opportunity to escape. When she does she runs out into the living room. Spencer chases after her through the apartment. Maggie dodges some of his attempts to capture her, but is ultimately outrun by him. He gets her to fall flat on the couch as he hovers above her. Both of them are smiling and breathless.

SPENCER: You’re not gonna give this up are you?

Maggie shakes her head no.

SPENCER: Alright, I surrender. But if in the morning, you wake up and find that you’ve magically teleported to the bed after falling asleep on the couch, it wasn’t me.

MAGGIE: Deal.

. . .

It’s sometime late at night and Spencer has finished showering. Maggie’s traveling through his apartment and looking at everything closer. She notices he has a record player. And all the records are classical music.

MAGGIE: Interesting record collection. Beethoven, Mozart, and Bach. Why am I not surprised?

SPENCER: Am I that predictable?

MAGGIE: Just a little. Care if I try to expand your music taste?

Maggie pulls out her phone. After some scrolling and typing, she begins to play “The Night We Met” by Lord Huron. Spencer is unfamiliar with this song, but it’s abundantly clear Maggie loves it.

MAGGIE: Do you dance?

SPENCER: Oh, no, no.

MAGGIE: Just dance with me. I’ll teach you.

The song plays in the background as Spencer shyly approaches Maggie. Maggie puts one arm out and Spencer takes her hand. Then he timidly puts his hand on her back, but with confidence, Maggie slides his hand down to her waist. Maggie puts her hand on his shoulder. Promptly, Spencer and Maggie both peer down at their feet as Maggie leads the dance. She does the classic box step, and after fidgeting around, Spencer gets it.

MAGGIE: There you go. You got it!

They dance a little more.

MAGGIE: Do you think you can lead?

Spencer nods, and Maggie lets him lead. As the song reaches the chorus, Spencer finally gets his confidence. He doesn’t have to look down at his feet anymore. He finally looks at Maggie. To her surprise, Spencer spins her and dips her. They stay put in this position. Neither of them break eye contact.

MAGGIE: You sure you don’t dance?

Spencer sheepishly smiles and shakes his head. He brings her up from the dip. Maggie’s flustered from the thrill of dancing with him, so much so that she pulls away.

MAGGIE: So, did you um, did you like the song?

SPENCER: Yeah, I did.

MAGGIE: You know, that, that could be like our song.

SPENCER: Our song. Yeah, okay.

. . .

It’s the middle of the night now. Maggie is sprawled across the couch, asleep. Spencer is at the table reading. He only has one dim light on so as not to make it harder for Maggie to sleep with a bigger light on. He peers over the couch and sees that she’s sleeping so he picks her up and carries her bridal style again. When he lays her in the bed, she stirs and mumbles.

MAGGIE: (quietly) Spencer?

SPENCER: (whispering) Sorry, I was trying not to wake you.

MAGGIE: Can you just sleep in the bed? I don’t want you on the couch.

SPENCER: Yeah, yeah. I’ll sleep on the bed. I’ll sleep soon, but I’m just gonna be outside reading. Goodnight, Maggie.

Maggie’s already fallen fast asleep again. Spencer leaves the room, shutting the door behind her.

As Spencer approaches the table, his reading material can be visibly seen. A thick stack of papers within a manila folder labeled “CONFIDENTIAL.” He opens it to resume reading the contents. On the very front, a scanned picture of a man’s driver’s license is paperclipped to another paper. The name on the driver’s license reads, “S.J Glover.” a.k.a Sonny Jr. Maggie’s dad.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

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rainy-day-gracie · 4 years

Text

Old Friends 3

Spencer Reid x reader

Loads of just Spencer fluff + the team :) enjoy!

Chapter 4 has been posted!!

Chapter 3:

“In the past week, three bodies in downtown Las Vegas have been found. One John Doe, two identified prostitutes.” Garcia pointed to the TV. “Cause of death with all three was a single gunshot wound to the heart. But there is something else.”

“Whoa,” Morgan breathed. “Don’t see that everyday.”

“He removed their faces. Maybe punishing them for their sins?” Prentiss wondered.

“It could be that someone close to him is or was a prostitute. Shot to the heart plus removal of the face could be personal.” I said, not totally convinced of myself.

Hotch closed his file. “We can start building a profile on the jet. Wheels up in 20.”

---

Spencer was oddly quiet on the jet. “You okay?” I asked him.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just- going back home, that’s all.” He glanced over with those coffee colored eyes, and I knew that’s not all that was bothering him.

“Maybe if we wrap this case we can go out on the town,” Prentiss suggested hopefully.

Morgan smirked. “I thought you hated Vegas.” Prentiss rolled her eyes.

“If we play poker, I am crushing you all. Including you,” I pointed at Spencer.

“Oh, I’m sure you could beat the rest of us, but the Boy Wonder here has been on a winning streak for nearly seven years.” Rossi smirked and took a long sip of his coffee.

Spencer sighed. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep that up, YFN is one of the only people that has beaten me.” The rest of the team stared at me in awe.

“YLN, what’s your IQ?” JJ wondered aloud.

Spencer groaned and I laughed. “Um, well... 190. Spencer and I have had this argument before.”

“Three points shouldn’t be this big of a deal!” He exclaimed.

We almost couldn’t stop laughing until Garcia video called. “What is it? What’s so funny?”

“My IQ is higher than Spencer’s.”

She gasped. “Oh my goodness, this is some kind of magical moment, but I am about to ruin it.”

“They found another body?” JJ asked expectantly.

“Yes, but this time the shots were to the heart and genitals of a downtown prostitute. Plus the removal of the face.” Garcia cringed. “Goodbye, my beloved crime fighters!” And her face disappeared from the screen.

“Alright, Morgan, YLN, Rossi, you are at the station working on victimology. JJ, Reid, visit the latest crime scene. Prentiss and I will visit the ME to see what we can find out.” Hotch said authoritatively. “This guy doesn’t have any kind of cooling off period.”

---

Rossi and Morgan seemed to have some kind of inside joke that I wasn’t in on. Finally I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Okay, what’s going on? You guys keep glancing at each other and smirking, but you don’t talk to me unless it’s about the case.”

Rossi glances over at Morgan and then looked at me. “We’re just not sure if you and good old 187 were truly just ‘old friends’ in college.”

Morgan sat down next to me at the table. “We’ve seen those small glances at each other when you think no one is watching, reassuring hand squeezes, the way he lingers on you after you look away.”

I could feel my face turn bright red even before he stopped talking. “Umm... I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Rossi smiled. “And there’s the small fact that you dated for almost two years at MIT.”

I gasped. “How did you know about that?”

Morgan was giggling like a little kid. “Garcia may have let it slip once.”

I took a deep breath. “Of course she did. Well, whatever. That was almost ten years ago when we had to break up. We were nineteen.”

“Yeah, right,” Rossi said. “And lets just pretend that he wouldn’t move mountains for you.”

I didn’t have an answer for that.

---

It wasn’t up until six victims that we had an idea.

“YLN, all of the female victims look like you,” Hotch began hesitantly. “If you released a statement, denouncing his kills, he would have to come to us directly. Otherwise, I don’t think he’s coming out of the woodwork any time soon.”

“How would I denounce his kills?”

“We would hold a press conference. You would say that the FBI wouldn’t be working on this case anymore. That the kills weren’t sophisticated enough, and the shootings were unrelated to each other,” Hotch explained. “Being insulted by someone he sees as lowly, beneath him, it would get under his skin. He would have to come to us.”

It took all of three seconds for me to agree. “Sure, someone will have to coach me first.”

JJ stepped up. “I’ve got that covered.”

An hour later, dozens of reporters were standing outside Vegas police station. All waiting for me.

“Remember to hold yourself like a queen. Control the crowd, don’t let them control you. And keep your answers short and to the point.” JJ explained quickly. “You’ve got this.”

“Thanks, let’s just get this done and I can crush you guys at the casino.” I said, making JJ laugh. “Let’s do this.”

---

“Hello, thank you for coming. My name is SSA YFN YLN, and I’m here with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. I would like to alert the public that the shootings around the city of Las Vegas will no longer be considered a BAU case.” I made sure to keep my chin high, and speak clearly. Like a queen, JJ had said.

“Why isn’t the FBI investigating the shootings of the city’s prostitutes?” One reporter called out.

“We believe the shootings, while savage, are unrelated to one another.”

“What do you have to say to the families of the victims?”

Oh god. I didn’t know how to answer that one. I’m sorry? Feel better soon? I looked out into the crowd for something that could help me.

Spencer was standing at the back. He nodded encouragingly, giving me a small smile.

“The Las Vegas police department is doing everything they can to find the individuals responsible for the shootings in the city. The FBI simply believes that the case doesn’t... have the sophisticated nature needed to be a BAU case.”

“What can you say about the rumor of the removal of the faces of the victims?”

“The Las Vegas police department is not commenting on that rumor at this time. Thank you very much.” And with that, my first press conference was ended.

The team met me inside the building. The smiles on their faces said I did a good job. Even Hotch had a pleased twinkle in his eye.

“You looked like you had done that a thousand times.”

“Commanded those reporters like a boss.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

Spencer barely whispered that last part, so quiet no one else could hear him.

“I wanna talk to the bitch that insulted me on TV!”

---

The man held a prostitute in his arm, a revolver pressing into her temple.

I tried to run out so he could see me, but Spencer held me back by my waist and pushed me into a side room with him.

“What are you doing? He wants to talk to me!” I yelled.

Spencer shook his head. “The second he sees you, he’s going to shoot you, no matter who’s surrounding him. Stay here and-“

“If I don’t see that bitch soon, this whore is dead!”

“Spencer,” I pleaded.

He paused for a second, just looking at me. “Fine,” he breathed. He did not like this at all.

I walked slowly out of the room and into the man’s line of sight. His eyes widened and he smiled maniacally.

“You really think my kills aren’t sophisticated?” He hissed at me. Based on the fact that he waltzed into the police department with a hostage, he wasn’t planning on getting out of here. But he’s going to make sure he caused as much damage as he could.

I kept my voice from trembling. “I don’t think anyone who cuts people’s faces off is anything more than a murderer.”

“YLN,” Hotch warned from behind me.

I didn’t dare take my eyes off of the man in front of me. “But your kills are ones that the BAU will study for years to come.” I gestured around the room. “Look at this. Right now you’ve got dozens of trained law enforcement pointing guns at you. Why would you not want to enjoy that spectacle while you’re still alive? If you shoot her, you get killed. But if you put that gun down, you can live to truly see the mass panic you created in one of the largest cities in the country.” I shrugged nonchalantly. “Your choice.”

He considered it for a second and slowly let go of the woman he was holding. The man then dropped his gun on the ground, and got on his knees.

I felt as if I could breathe again. I shut my eyes as Hotch put the man in handcuffs and dragged him away.

“You are on some kind of roll, YLN.” Morgan patted me on the shoulder. “Spencer is a lucky boy.”

“Oh shush.” I groaned at him. “I need a drink. Can we hit the town now?”

Prentiss walked up next to me. “I thought you’d never ask.”

---

We took off the next morning, most everyone in varying degrees of a hangover. Prentiss and Morgan were the worst of it. “Ugh, I hate Vegas,” I heard her groan.

Spencer took his seat next to me on the jet. “I’m still convinced you were cheating last night. You couldn’t have beaten me that many times, right?”

I laughed loudly. “I’ve beaten you in poker since college. What were you expecting?”

He gave me a fake glare and rested his head on my shoulder. “Whatever, I’m taking a nap.”

Good thing everyone was too hungover to see the obvious blush on my face.

A few hours later, Spencer’s head was still on my shoulder. “Hey, Spencer?” I whispered.

“Yes?”

“What’s been bothering you?”

His dark eyes opened and he lifted his head. “Well... nothing’s been really bothering me. It’s just... strange to be seeing you everyday again.” He looked me in the eyes. “Is that weird?”

“No, it’s not weird. The last time I saw you... you were off to join the academy and I...” I was taking a gap year to care for my negligent mother dying of breast cancer.

“I know. And I know that’s why we... ended it,” Spencer sighed. “I just didn’t realize how much I’ve missed seeing you all the time until you joined the team.”

I gave him a small smile. “I’ve missed seeing you all the time too, Spencer.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fluff

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reidimagines · 4 years

Text

Concequenses for tomorrow

(a/n): okay so I’m starting another ‘series’. well, you can read each one individually, they’re not connected. basically, kiss series. i have an app that picks a name, so that’s how i’m picking the characters. if you want a certain character, you should let me know and i’ll make it happen!

Drunk/ sloppy kiss with Aaron Hotchner

Kiss series

“I need a drink,” Emily said, rubbing her forehead. You slumped down next to her, sighing.

“I need ten.” It had been a hard case, and while it had ended okay, you felt defeated.

“Come on,” Morgan said. “I’ll see who I can convince to go to the club. We all need at least one drink.”

He wasn’t wrong. The case had taken a toll on everyone. The best thing would be going to bed, but everyone knew that wasn’t an option. The sleep wouldn’t even be okay, not without a whole lot of drinks.

No one needed much convincing.

A little less than an hour later, you were lined up at the bar, watching your friends dance with a cheeky grin. You liked watching them dance in a totally not creepy way. You liked seeing them a bit relaxed, laughing and enjoying themselves.

“You know you can join them, right?” Hotch said.

You grinned at him. You knew you could, but you were perfectly happy with his company. “I’m good here,” You shrugged, pretending as if moment like these didn’t mean everything to you.

You knew you definitely shouldn’t, but you couldn’t help but be helplessly attracted to your boss. It didn’t interfere with your work at all, but in moments like these, relaxed and not working, it was hard to fight it. You took another shot. Maybe you should go dance, give your mind something to do-

“Well, what if I asked you to dance?”

You couldn’t believe your ears, was sure you were having a fever dream until he looked at you, expecting an answer. “I’d love to.” You managed, your voice small and strangled. In all your time here, you’d never expected Aaron Hotchner to ask you to dance. He did sometimes dance, although a bit awkwardly, and shortly, but asking you to dance, that was something else.

You noticed JJ and Morgan looked at the two of you joining the group, more like stares. Especially when the both of you moved a bit away from the group to dance. It wasn’t an intimate dance, more a clumsy, drunk dance. Bodies were bumping into the both of you, forcing you closer and closer, until you could just feel your face burning up.

“I need another drink,” Hotch said over the music after the second song. A bit rilled up, you smiled at him.

“I’ll come with you,” You yelled over the music, wrapping a hand around his arm so you wouldn’t lose him. It had become busy quite fast, and while you enjoyed it, you knew you’d need air at some point.

You watched him order his drink from one of the standing tables, your cheeks flushed with heat, alcohol, and the thought of Aaron close to you.

He returned, placing a drink in front of you. You smiled, thanking him and drinking in silence. There wasn’t much to be said, and even if there was, there was too much noise, anyway.

You felt the alcohol, felt yourself become a bit giddy, knew that if you could, you’d probably say things you regretted. You tried never to get too tipsy when you were out with the team, it wasn’t you intention now, but it had happened, and there was little you could do about it. Your common sense seemed to be fading as you sipped the cocktail Aaron had bought you with a grin, although there was no reason for it.

“What’s so funny?”

You looked at him, the grin changing to a lazy smile as you rested your elbow on the table, resting your temple on your hand. “You wouldn’t understand.”

It was true. He couldn’t. It wasn’t even funny, per say, you were just… happy, enjoying the quiet company. It never felt like that when you were working together, when you were sitting together and talking on the jet. It never felt quite like this. You knew it was probably because you were both intoxicated, a bit too drunk to feel responible for things as silly as feelings and attraction.

Even though he was probably feeling the alchol, too, you doubted he felt the same as you, doubted he felt the butterflies dancing to a crazy song, doubted he even knew what was happening inside of you.

“You’re staring,” He said. You barely heard him over the music that was still blasting. You’d lost track of where the others were, and even though you were in a busy club, it felt as if you were the only people on the earth. A delicious kind of loneliness. “Are you okay?”

You knew your face was telling him something, because if it hadn’t, he wouldn’t have asked. Or maybe he would, you didn’t know him as well as you wished you did. “Sorry, I think I need some air.”

You drank the last bit of your drink, and moved through the crowd to the door. Once you were out, you knew you couldn’t go back inside, but it was fine. The little room was too pressing, too suffocating. You stepped out, feeling the cool air on your skin. You shrugged your jacked on, moved a bit further, where it was calmer, and leaned against the wall and closed your eyes. The world was spinning when you closed them, but somehow it felt good. You needed to actually feel how much you drank, and force yourself to not do anything stupid.

“Hey,” You opened your eyes, and soon the world was calm again. Aaron was standing near you, and you smiled again.

“You didn’t have to come,” You chuckled. “I’m old enough.”

“I know,” He said. “I told the team I’m bringing you home.”

Home. Such a vague concept. Was it really a home if you were always itching to leave again, to not spend another night alone, and to hear at least something. “Why?” In a way, it felt… weird. You could easily take a taxi by yourself, why did he want to come with you? You were sane enough to throw a punch if a doucebag approached you, too.

He seemed taken back, you usually just agreed, shrugged, never minding the company. It wasn’t like you weren’t glad now, it was just… different. “I don’t know,” It was probably the most honest answer he’d ever given you, and for once, you could read it off his face.

“Are you drunk?” You asked, because if he was… well, certainly nothing could happen. You wouldn’t let it, but if he was sober enough-

“I’m sober enough,” His voice was holding something, but you couldn’t pinpoint what. You wondered if it really mattered what his voice was trying to hide.

Despite yourself, you giggled softly, pushing yourself from the wall and moving towards the street, hoping a taxi would pass soon enough. “Good,” You said, turning back around, your back towards the road, as you grinned once more. “Me too.”

You didn’t know what to expect, although you did have a few scenarios you wouldn’tl mind happening at all. He moved closer, and when you thought he might do the unthinkable, something you’d rarely dared to dream of, he pulled you away from the road and signaled a taxi.

You were blushing on the sidewalk, barely a step behind him. A taxi pulled up, and, like the gentleman he was, he let you in first.

It was silent after you’d given the driver the address, but eventually, he turned to you. “Why did you ask-”

You interrupted him, sober enough that you knew you had to say something, but tipsy enough to dare and speak what had been on your mind for a long time. “Be honest,” You took his face in as you paused, licking your lips. “Why did you follow me?”

He looked at you for a long moment, you could see the internal battle of what to say. “I hoped maybe I was courageous enough to break the rules.”

You would do something, anything, if you were sure he wanted it. You moved closer, it was only a bit, but it was enough to get the message across, you were sure. “Are you sober enough to be sure?”

“Are you sober enough to face the consequences?” He shot back, making you grin.

“Sounds like a problem for tomorrow,” You whispered, finally daring to glance at his lips. You let your hand slip closer to him. “I’m sober enough to know I’ve waited long enough.”

That seemed to say enough, because if he hadn’t leaned over, you would have. It was awkward, kissing in the backseat of a car. The seatbelt was digging in your chest and neck, but you didn’t care, not when he kissed you hard, the taste of beer still in his mouth. His hand found the back of your neck, tugging you closer.

Moving feverishly, you undid your seatbelt, sliding in the middle seat without breaking the kiss. Your mouths moved fast, there was so much tension that was finally being released. You let your hands move over his chest, eventually gripping his jacket when he kissed you in a way that made your knees weak.

You tugged him closer, and his hands travelled over your body, moving over your back, slipping under your shirt, as if he couldn’t touch enough of you at once.

The car stopped before you even realized how much time had passed. Lost for breath, you both pulled back, a bit disorientated, a bit lightheaded, and very happy. “Want to come in with me?”

He chuckled, he actually chuckled. “Consequences are for tomorrow, right?”

You nodded, paying the driver and getting out. He followed you. “It’s what I live by.” Any other day, you wouldn’t have said something like that to your boss, but he seemed happy to hear it.

“Lead the way.” He said with a need in his voice, one that you were happy to hear. You smiled, taking his hand and moving to the door of your apartment block with a full heart and a mouth full of laughter and happiness.

#kiss series #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine

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rebaobsessivelywrites · 6 years

Text

The Profiler in the Therapist (ch 8)

You can find this entire fic here on AO3.

Fandom: Bones (TV) and Criminal Minds (TV)

Entire Fic Description:

Dr. Lance Sweets is no longer the innocent eager psychologist he was a little over a year and a half ago. His time as a prodigy profiler at the BAU was a blessing. His time in a serial killer's basement was not.

Now, scarred but healed, Sweets is 'retired' to calmer job in the FBI as a therapist. As he helps others, he helps himself. But... is it enough? What will he do when one of his most fascinating (unwilling) patients asks for help on a case? How will his new team take his past as his secrets slowly start to come out?

Entire Fic Warnings: cannon-typical violence, past torture, panic attacks, PTSD, serial killers

Chapter word count: 2,419

Chapter warnings: grief, healing

Summary: A mild filler chapter, featuring Jack and the signs of healing in the wake of a tragedy.

Please read the fic! First chapter, previous chapter, next chapter, master list. And let me know if you want to be tagged.

It was mid-morning. Sweets was steadily weaving his way through the gray and brown halls of the Hoover building, a simple manila folder resting more heavily than it probably should in his hand. After this hand delivery he would have to head back to his office to meet a patient—a new patient at that—and then continue through the motions of his day… patients, evaluations, consultations, etc., etc. He loved his job, but he was already itching to be gone. Today the drab interior of the FBI building was more irritating than comforting in its monotony, and Sweets was certain the day would never end. Hell, the three minute walk upstairs felt like it was taking hours.

See, Lance’s life had found a rhythm: work, regular calls with his team—no, his family—regardless of if they were on cases, occasional meals with any combination of said family, and, most importantly, biweekly visits with his nephew.

His nephew.

It was magical how Jessica and Aaron and Jack were all so insistent on that fact. Aaron had always been a mentor to Lance—like a father or big brother—and Jessica had quickly claimed the role of big sister, so it made sense that Jack was like nephew to him…. But it still did funny things to his heart whenever Jack called him ‘Uncle Lance’.

As Sweets stared blankly at the changing numbers displayed above the elevator, he couldn’t help marveling over the idea once again. It still bothered him sometimes—the fact that he was a part of Jack’s life because his mother had died— but Hotch and Jessica had been ruthless over the past two weeks, thoroughly scaring any lingering insecurities out of him until he was simply left with joy and anticipation.

Today was Wednesday, which meant Lance would get to leave work two hours early to pick Jack up. But, today was Wednesday, which meant Lance had started work two hours early, so the day would take forever. Suffice to say, he was crawling out of his skin.

To make it worse, he was about to deliver the least comfortable psych eval he had ever done to one of his favorite ex-patients and the most terrifying woman on the face of the planet, and he was absolutely certain the elevator was moving at half the speed it normally did.

The evaluation was on Max Keenan. This, of course, was the Max Keenan (aka Matthew Brennan, aka Dr. Temperance Brennan’s father) who was at the root of two of his (ex-)patients’ problems. He was also the source of a great deal of Dr. Sweets’ unease. Keenan was going to trial for the murder of Deputy Director Robert Kirby, which, despite the victim’s high profile, was not all that unusual. No, what had Lance troubled was the fact that the prosecution was being led by Federal Prosecutor Caroline Julian, aka the most terrifying woman alive even without her shared history with Hotch, and (more importantly in the scheme of things) Special Agent Seeley Booth, aka Dr. Brennan’s partner. The partner of the accused’s daughter.

It was messed up on so many levels.

Despite months of working with Booth and Brennan, and accepting that they did work well together, Sweets could not fathom how they simply shrugged off the fact that Booth had arrested Brennan’s father.

Heaving a large sigh, Sweets stepped from the elevator and into utter chaos. The floor was bustling with activity, and Sweets had to dodge several agents on his way to Booth’s office. As he approached the glass doors he saw Ms. Julian seated in front of Booth’s desk, waving a folder around in her constant semi-dramatic manner, while Booth nodded along. Sweets determinedly pushed aside his worries and knocked politely before entering.

As he slipped into the room Booth gave him a polite nod and Ms. Julian turned around to look at him.

“I hope you’re here with that evaluation, Dr. Sweets,” the prosecutor eyed him critically. This is why she terrifies me, he thought before her look intensified and he scrambled to answer.

“Yes, ah,” Sweets stepped forward, proffering the manila folder as though handing a piece of meat to a tiger, “Here it is.” She’s more ferocious than Penelope and JJ combined, and has a better poker face than Emily, he observed, All the worse, she knows Hotch. Hell, she worked with Hotch.

Ms. Julian accepted it eagerly but paused to give the profiler a piercing look. “I’m not gonna bite you, chérie,” she told him sagely before promptly turning back towards Booth and flipping the file open.

The agent gave Sweets an amused look over the prosecutor’s head. After a moment of giving Booth an annoyed look, he chose to ignore it. “So, do we have a date yet?” he asked the pair.

Ms. Julian was thoroughly absorbed in the file so Booth answered. “Not yet,” he shook his head, “But they should be setting the trial soon.”

“Alright,” he nodded. After a moment, he looked at the prosecutors back. I wonder if I should stay or…

Without turning, Ms. Julian answered his unasked question, “Go back to your patients, chérie,” she urged, “You want to leave as soon as you can today.”

Sweets stared, absolutely flabbergasted, at the back of her head. How the hell did she know that? Does she know I pick up Jack on Wednesdays? And if so, how? Sweets was somewhat relieved that Booth was giving the prosecutor a similar look; at least that meant she wasn’t some kind of mind-reader.

Eventually, Ms. Julian looked up from the folder at peered back at Sweets again. She gave him a slightly mischievous smile, “You wouldn’t want to disappoint your nephew, now would you?”

“Did Aaron…?” Sweets ventured.

“I had a wonderful run-in with him the other day,” she confirmed, hand gestures accentuating her point, “He… may have mentioned it.”

Lance shook his head slightly. Of course. “Ok, so I’ll... uh, see you around.”

Ms. Julian gave him a firm nod and turned back to her file as Booth called his own goodbye, so the therapist slipped out of the office and back into the chaos of the bullpen. He carefully dodged a passing agent and set off toward the elevators, marveling quietly over Ms. Julian and her inescapable tidal wave of personality. The brief encounter did have the benefit of redirecting his impatient energy; he was no longer crawling out of his skin, which was a blessing. He was still eager to see Jack, but his focus had been effectively refocused to two separate puzzles: when the hell did Aaron see Ms. Julian, and how on earth was Booth and Brennan’s partnership going to survive the trial?

Lance pulled up outside the slightly worn combined elementary and pre-school building, complete with a battered sign, and gave a soft sigh as he felt all the worries of his day slide away to nothing. As soon as he pulled into a free spot near a side entrance to the school and turned his car off, the final bell of the day rang, prompting the door to bang open and a cascade of children to pour forth. Several frazzled looking adults—school staff—were already waiting at strategic points around the parking lot to watch over the chaos and ensure the children made it safely home. Sweets wasn’t sure how they managed to do it every day, all week long.

From all around Lance, as he watched safely in his seat, there was a cacophony of slamming car doors and parents calling names. The profiler himself, however, chuckled quietly at the adults desperate to escape the after school rush (and thus causing it), and leisurely reached a cooler out of the back seat, eased himself out of the car, and made his way towards a bench, dodging a crowd of laughing children running towards the buses in the process.

Lance settled onto the bench, the cooler beside his leg, and reached up to loosen his tie, watching the chaos of the parking lot as he did so. Not long after he settled himself, an excited cry came from behind him, “Uncle Lance!!”

Sweets turned and smiled at the rapidly approaching figure of his nephew, “Hey, Jack.”

“Did you bring a treat?” the four-year-old bounced around to the front of the bench, eyes immediately zeroing in on the cooler.

Sweets chuckled and motioned for Jack to join him on the bench; he did so with vigor, abandoning his backpack on the concrete under the bench in the process. Once the boy was settled and eyeing both Lance and the cooler with impatience, Sweets carefully unzipped the container and revealed a small selection of popsicles.

“Cool!” Jack exclaimed, “Is there orange?”

Lance smiled at the bouncing boy, answering his question by fishing through the colored ice to retrieve a bright orange treat. Jack’s eyes went wide in awe and excitement, and he started to reach for the treat before visibly stopping himself. The boy’s wide-eyed gaze slide up to meet Lance’s amused one.

He blinked earnestly, “Thank you, Uncle Lance.”

“You’re welcome, Jack,” Sweets chuckled, handing over the treat.

Like flipping a switch, Jack was suddenly a bouncing ball of energy again. He squirmed in his seat as he tore the clear plastic wrapping open, coating one hand in sticky orange juice as he did so, and gave the treat a victorious lick. “Have a green one!” Jack declared, peering into the cooler and taking another lick.

“Alright,” the honorary uncle agreed easily, fetching the specified flavor before zipping the cooler back up. “How was your day, Jack?”

“It was awesome!” the four-year-old exclaimed, “Mrs. Daniels gave us scissors and glue and all sorts of cool paper and we made our very own alphabets! And we did a song about finding a peanut, but it was rotten, and…”

Lance smiled at his nephew, letting his happy chatter wash over him as he carefully licked his sour apple popsicle. The therapist was unseemly grateful that the boy was doing so well; every time he got to see Jack shining with energy and joy, he stopped and took a deep breath and tried to imprint the feeling in his memory. There were still bad days —days when Jack was a shadow, a ghost, an empty shell going through the motions of living, or days when he disappeared like smoke and they scrambled to find him… and when they did he’d be curled into a tiny ball crying his heart out— but the bad days were happening less and less.

It had been two weeks since Lance had found some stability, three weeks since the funeral, and almost five weeks since Hayley’s death. It was tough going, but every painful moment and grief-laden tear was worth it if it meant Jack would smile like this for the rest of his life.

“—drew our families and Mrs. Daniels liked my picture so much that she asked if she could get a copy first! She’s gonna give it back tomorrow, and I can’t wait to show you and Dad and Aunt Jess.” Jack beamed proudly at Sweets and settled back on the bench with his treat, obviously satisfied with his summary of the day.

“That sounds wonderful,” Lance smiled at the pre-schooler. “We might have to make a few copies when you get it back so your Dad can hang one in his office.”

Jack pulled his face away from his treat and beamed. Satisfied with the smile Lance returned, he returned his mouth to the more important task of devouring his treat. It was one of the little things that Sweets had come to love about the boy; Jack wasn’t a very chatty kid, but he was always very enthusiastic when he did have something to say.

Lance chuckled and ruffled his nephew’s hair, “Why don’t you finish that up and then we’ll go to the park for a bit. Does that sound good?” Jack nodded vigorously around his popsicle, sucking on it with renewed purpose. Lance laughed and returned to his own treat. The crowd was basically gone now, and the school was quiet. It was just him and Jack, covered in sticky juice in the spring afternoon sun.

Life was pretty darn good.

After a moment, the comfortable silence was interrupted by the ringing of a phone. Lance startled and juggled his melting treat as he reached for his phone with his less sticky hand.

“Dr. Sweets,” he answered without checking the caller ID, Jack giggling at him in the background.

“Lance,” a familiar voice greeted, “It sounds like you have your hands full.”

“Yeah,” he agreed easily, smiling, “and sticky. Your son is quite the sticky handful.” Lance wrinkled his nose, setting Jack off in a fresh wave of giggles.

On the other end of the line, Hotch chuckled as well, “Oh, I know—believe me.”

Sweets smiled fondly at the younger Hotchner as he focused on the elder. “What’s up, Aaron?” he redirected the conversation.

Hotch let out a gusty sigh, a slight static crackling in the phone speaker, “We’re headed to Wyoming. JJ found a series of suspicious teen suicides that have all happened on Fridays. So…” he trailed off.

“So, just to make sure,” Lance continued the agent’s thought, “you’ve opened an equivocal—uh,” he cut himself off and edited out the word ‘death’, “—investigation.”

“Right,” he agreed, “We should be back by Saturday, even if there’s an unsub out there. I’ll call Jessica and let her know. Will you talk to Jack?”

“Of course,” he assured the father, “Will you ask Jessica if she’d like me to take Jack tonight?” On the bench beside Lance, Jack perked up, freezing mid-lick to stare up at his uncle.

The profiler chuckled, “I can probably tell you the answer is yes without talking to her, but I’ll let her know to call you.”

“Thanks, Aaron,” the therapist replied, grinning at the excited look on his nephew’s face, “and good luck.”

“And you, Lance,” Hotch returned with a smile in his voice. A moment later the line went dead and Sweets tucked his phone away.

“So, Jack, it sounds like I might have you for the rest of the day…”

“Really??!” Jack stared at his uncle with huge eyes.

“Really,” he assured the four-year-old. Said child let out an excited squeal in response and threw himself at his uncle for a hug.

Yeah… Life was pretty darn great.

#reba's fanfic #profiler in the therapist #tag more later

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