#nikos north fic

[lunatriense]

North Pole/Magnetic Poles drawn together, for Mikazuki

"You're so weird."

Pyrrha looked to Neon, who was apparently watching her from her bed where she lay on her stomach, idly flicking her tail and kicking her feet. "I'm not weird, I'm… professional."

"You've checked your hair four times now since you wrote that," Neon's gaze flicked to the tablet in Pyrrha's hand.

"I…" Pyrrha thought better of protesting; Neon was surprisingly observant for someone so flippant, and a far better verbal jouster than herself. "It keeps… falling in my eyes?"

"Uh huh." Neon was very obviously unconvinced. "And that's why you're hand delivering it again, even though no one else does? Cause you're 'professional'?" She made air quotes with her fingers.

Pyrrha felt her cheeks warm and fidgeted a little, shifting the tablet to hold in both hands. "I… I like to be thorough."

"That's not thorough, that's weird."

"You're the last person that should be calling anybody weird," Flynt commented from the bed next to Neon's. She stuck her tongue out at him, which drew a chuckle from his throat. "She's right though. This time." He turned his attention to Pyrrha. "You seriously gonna go turn that in tonight? Doubt anyone's even there this late. Why not wait til tomorrow?"

Pyrrha anxiously shifted her weight, briefly checking the clock. "I-I just… want to get it over with?" She nervously chuckled.

"But why-"

"You're right though, I'd better be off!" Pyrrha's rushed words cut Neon off as she darted for the door and out before the faunus girl could ask more of her.

"Your commitment is commendable, Miss Nikos, but you do understand you can send your reports electronically, right?"

Pyrrha bobbed her head in a quick nod. "Yes ma'am, I just like see-" She choked on her own words, hiding her face behind her hand to cough though she couldn't conceal her widened eyes.

"Are you alright?" Colonel Schnee only arched a brow, her tone remaining as stern as ever.

After taking a moment to compose herself, Pyrrha let her hand fall back to her side and nodded. "Fine! I-I'm fine." She mentally scolded herself before continuing, "As I was saying, I prefer seeing to them personally."

The colonel just stared at her for long enough Pyrrha was sure she saw through the deception. No surprise there; it was a terribly flimsy excuse, but she couldn't very well tell the headmaster's right hand that she delivered the reports in person just to see her, could she?

Finally, Schnee broke the silence. "I see." She set the tablet on the desk behind her. "Thank you. Is there anything else?"

"Ah…" Pyrrha fidgeted moreso even than she had under her teammates' scrutiny. After a moment her shoulders slumped a little. "No, ma'am…"

She hated this part. Every week she submitted team PINC's report by hand, just to get close to Colonel Schnee, and every week she was asked if she had other business. She never did; why would she? Nothing that wasn't personal, anyway. And so, every week, after the barest sliver of time together, she was dismissed back to the dorm where she tried to keep her screaming internal.

"Then you're dis-"

"Y-you're here awfully late, aren't you?" Pyrrha blinked, stunned by her own voice.

"…Perhaps, and yet here you are." The colonel's unblinking gaze bored straight through her.

Pyrrha gave a nervous laugh and shifted her weight to her other foot. "I'm sorry. It's just…" Her eyes flicked sound the room.

Damnit Pyrrha, think! You can't just say something like that and then leave!

"You… must have a lot of work?"

She managed to stop herself from face-palming, at least. Seriously? 'A lot of work'?

"I do," Schnee replied. Pyrrha imagined she gave the faintest of smirks. "It comes with being the general's assistant."

Another little nervous laugh arose in Pyrrha's throat. "You could use an assistant of your own!"

Schnee scoffed.

"I'm sorry, that's ridiculous." Pyrrha looked down and away, turning ever so slightly for the door before pausing and looking back to the colonel. "Unless you do?"

Schnee stared dispassionately. "Good night, Miss Nikos."

"O-of course not. I'm sorry, forget I asked." Hanging her head, Pyrrha turned and left the office, leaning back against the door once it shut.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! She banged her head back lightly against the metal. 'You could use an assistant'? Really?? Could you be any more awkward?

With a heavy sigh, the dejected Pyrrha returned to the PINC dorm.

Winter smirked and shook her head softly. A series of little thumps against the door told her Nikos was still there, and that this wasn't simply a quirk of hers. Honestly, could she be more obvious? Well, Winter supposed Nikos could show up with flowers instead of a report.

She was flattered, to be honest. She'd had few prospective suitors since leaving her family, now that she had no inheritance or influence to speak of. To have Pyrrha Nikos — the pride of Mistral and greatest champion in the history of the tournaments — fawning over her like this was… nice. Her grin grew just a touch.

Maybe she should indulge the girl? In all honesty she could use an assistant… but no. Nikos had her studies to focus on, and besides, she was the girl's teacher of a sort.

Winter sighed, picking up the report and absently scrolling through it. Then again, she wasn't really a teacher, was she? She technically had no authority over the academy, though everyone knew she wielded the general's as though it were her own. And it's not as though she would do anything more than chat with the girl and let her get her crush out of her system.

Reaching the end of the report, Winter smiled. Nikos was thorough, and had very elegant handwriting. She would certainly be a help.

"Anything noteworthy today?"

"No ma'am." Pyrrha shook her head, wearing the little smile that had become her natural expression of late. "Unless you consider Neon hijacking the announcement system noteworthy."

Colonel Schnee sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "It would be noteworthy if she went three days without causing havoc."

Pyrrha giggled.

"You still can't get her in line?"

"I'm afraid not. The harder I try, the more mischievous she gets."

Schnee winced. "Of course."

They'd had this conversation every few days since Pyrrha started working as the colonel's unofficial assistant nearly two months back. It was almost endearing at this point, an in-joke for just the two of them. Except for days like today, that was; Neon had blared her pixie-pop music at maximum volume for almost an hour before security got the computers back under control. Even for Pyrrha it was migraine-inducing, and she rather enjoyed her irreverent friend's music.

"Pyrrha?"

She blinked a few times as she came back to the present. "I'm sorry?"

"I asked if you happened to have anything for a headache."

"Oh! Yes ma'am, as a matter of fact, I do." She'd known Colonel Schnee would need them, so she'd stopped by the infirmary on the way over. She fished the little packet of pills from her pocket and passed them over.

"Thank you. And stop that." Schnee took the pills with a soft sigh.

"Ma'am?" Pyrrha tilted her head.

"That." Icy eyes settled on hers. "I told you, you can call me Winter."

"Ah, right." Pyrrha bit her lip and fidgeted a little. "I didn't want to be too familiar, ma'am."

"Be that as it may, stop. It's Winter, understood?"

"Yes ma-… um, Winter."

"Better."

Pyrrha beamed. Winter must like her to insist, right? Genuinely like her, not just think she's useful?

They worked for some time in silence, save a bit of chit chat here and there, until Winter drew Pyrrha's full attention by clearing her throat softly.

"Do you have any plans Sunday evening?"

Pyrrha blinked at the odd question, her brow furrowing in thought momentarily. "I don't believe so. Do you need me to do something?"

Winter kept her eyes glued to the tablet she'd been working on. "In a manner of speaking. The Atlesian Historical Society is sponsoring a charity performance of The Rose Knight, and General Ironwood will be… indisposed, so I'll be attending."

"And you need me to make sure the weekly reports are in order?"

"No. I need-" Winter paused for a breath. "I'd like you to join me."

Pyrrha stared at her wide eyed. "I'm… sorry?" She couldn't possibly have heard that correctly.

Winter finally turned to face her. Were her eyes always that soft? No, no, it must be the light.

"I want you to come with me," Winter repeated more deliberately, "as my plus one."

There it was again; apparently she had heard correctly. "O-oh!" Pyrrha nervously shifted in her seat. "Well then, I'd… love to!"

Winter paced back and forth in her quarters, absently biting her thumbnail. She'd actually done it. She'd asked Pyrrha out with her. Her stomach was doing flips; this was a bad idea. A very bad idea. How did she let James talk her into this?

Oh sure, he was right that she'd been smiling much more lately, and looking forward to Pyrrha's arrival after class. And yes, she spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about the girl these days. But they were friends, that was only natural!

Could they be more than friends?

She bit harder. No! Pyrrha was a student for gods' sakes! A very capable, mature student — in most regards, anyway — but still a student. Then again, she didn't really need to be a student… she was acing her classes despite the additional workload of being Winter's assistant, and could outfight any whole team, or most veteran hunters for that matter.

Maybe she was only here to connect with people? She'd confided in Winter how lonely her life had been, and outside her own team the students were obviously intimidated by her and kept their distance. If Pyrrha was here to meet people, then… it was alright, wasn't it? She would just be helping a girl in need. A very talented, very beautiful girl in need… Winter shook her head. She'd let her thoughts go down that path far enough. Yes, she'd be helping, she would. And helping herself, too… loneliness was something they shared, after all.

"Winter? Is… is everything alright?" Pyrrha had been to formal events before, of course, but often wearing her battle attire as something of a decoration. "Do I look… odd?" She picked self-consciously at the green silk of her dress under the other woman's lingering gaze.

Winter blinked a few times and shook her head just a touch. "No, not at all, you…" She swallowed softly. "You look…exquisite."

Pyrrha's cheeks positively burned and she looked away, but she couldn't keep a smile from her face. Not that she wanted to. "Thank you." She quickly glanced back before averting her eyes once more. "So do you." No, Winter was more than exquisite. She was radiant… she was perfect.

She was… blushing? Pyrrha hardly expected that, but when she looked back Winter did indeed have a pink glow at her cheeks. It made Pyrrha's heart skip a beat, and it made her smile grow.

"Shall we?"

With a nod from Pyrrha, they made their way downstairs where a car waited. She could've sworn she saw General Ironwood looking down at them from his office window when she turned to get into the car, but when she looked back he wasn't there. It must've been her imagination; Winter had said he was indisposed after all. A short ride later they were at the theatre.

They were scarcely in the doors before a woman came darting over to them. "Winter Schnee? I haven't seen you in ages!"

"Amaranth." Winter's voice was flat and she wore the icy mask Pyrrha had learned was not in fact her natural resting expression. They obviously weren't close, whatever Amaranth might think, but Winter wasn't radiating hostility the way she did whenever business with her father came up, either. Old acquaintances, perhaps? "Allow me to introduce-"

"Is that…? Oh my gods it is! Pyrrha Nikos, how lovely to meet you!" Amaranth turned her attention to the both of them. "Are you here together?"

"Oh, no, I'm just-"

Pyrrha was cut off by Winter's interjection. "Yes, that's right."

Her eyes widened, her mouth left hanging partway open, speechless. Did Winter just…? No, no, she couldn't have meant it like that. They were just here as colleagues, just friends… right?

"That's wonderful! Well then, I won't keep you. Enjoy the show, you two!" The woman gave them a knowing, almost conspiratorial grin.

Winter still didn't correct her. In fact, when Pyrrha — dumbfounded as she was — didn't immediately follow her lead to their seats, Winter took her hand to guide her along. That was decidedly not a simple friendly gesture, at least not from Winter; Pyrrha had yet to see the woman touch someone so familiarly, not even General Ironwood. She followed along in something of a daze, her mind reaching for any possible other explanation. The only conclusion she could come to by the time they'd reached their seats — with Winter still holding her hand! — was that this was, in fact, a date. A date in which the eyes of Atlas' rich and powerful would be on them, no less.

Pyrrha's face was positively on fire, painfully so. This was all so exhilarating, and yet so mortifying. She'd already been giddy after receiving Winter's invitation; had she known it was for an actual date she'd have been ecstatic to the point of uselessness, surely. Fortunate for her teammates, then, that she hadn't. Unfortunate for her, however; she would've bought a new dress, gone to the salon… brought a gift! Pyrrha quickly took a mental inventory of what she had with her. There had to be something that would suffice…but no. Nothing. Oh gods, she had nothing to give Winter!

She quickly excused herself to the lavatory, retrieving her scroll once there and frantically tapping at the screen.

"Whatever you heard, it was a lie."

"Neon! Thank the gods, I-" Pyrrha's brow furrowed. "Wait, what would I have heard? What did you do??"

"Nothing! I'm innocent, I swear!" That was very unlikely.

The chime announcing the impending beginning of the show rang from the speaker in the ceiling.

I don't have time to argue!

"We can talk about that later. Right now I need your help!"

"Uuuuuh… okaaaaayyy?"

"Can you bring flowers to the theatre? "

"Flowers?"

"Yes!"

"…Told you it was a date." Pyrrha could hear her smirk. "So what, you want me to pick up some roses?"

"Yes."

"Right, I'll go-"

A thought struck her. "Wait, no!" Winter was a Schnee, and as such she would've been taught the trappings of high society. Including flower language. "I need a bouquet with…," she paused as she tried to remember, then counted off the varieties on her fingers, "daisies, gardenias, edelweiss, morning glories, calla lilies, and white jasmine, carnations, and roses."

There was a long pause, during which Pyrrha imagined Neon was rubbing her temples. "Sure. Why not? I'll just run down to the florist and tell them I need all the flowers! It's Sunday night Pyr; where the hell am I supposed to find that!?"

Pyrrha clenched her teeth. "You'll figure it out, I believe in you!"

"No I won't! I'm not a magician!!"

"If you get it here in the next three and a half hours, I'll forget about whatever you did and cover for you."

"Deal!"

The first thing that Pyrrha saw were the flowers, her eyes fluttering open to the sight of them now pressed and framed on the wall. She smiled blissfully and gave a soft, contented sigh at the sensation of slender fingers combing through her hair, their nails gently teasing along her scalp.

"Good morning."

Winter's voice came from above her, matching the serenely happy expression revealed to Pyrrha when she turned to look up from her lover's lap.

"Or rather, good evening." Winter chuckled and brought her hand down to cup Pyrrha's cheek.

Pyrrha turned her head to kiss Winter's wrist. "Sorry I fell asleep on you."

Winter shook her head with a soft laugh. "Don't be, you clearly needed it. You had a long day."

That was true; the second-year finals had been quite difficult, and PINC had only returned from a two-week mission late the night before. Of course, that had also meant Winter had been missing her as much as she had Winter, and she hadn't left her girlfriend's quarters since finishing the exams yesterday afternoon.

"Did you have a nice dream?"

Pyrrha pushed herself up to sit beside Winter, stifling a yawn as she nodded and stretched. "Very nice."

Winter arched a brow.

"I was remembering our first date."

Winter's cheeks flushed and she looked away. "I thought you said it was a nice dream."

A melodic laugh burst past Pyrrha's lips and she leaned over to kiss Winter's cheek. "It was!"

"It was a disaster!"

"It was lovely."

Winter turned back to her with a doubtful look. "You didn't even know it was a date."

Pyrrha's cheeks warmed. "Yes, well, perhaps the start was a little…rocky… but it all worked out."

Winter rolled her eyes, but nevertheless a smile blossomed once more. "I suppose it did."

Pyrrha arched a brow. "You suppose?"

"Oh alright," Winter chuckled and shook her head. "It worked out marvellously."

Pyrrha kissed her once more, lingering upon her lips. She couldn't agree more.

#north pole #Magnetic Poles #pyrrha nikos #winter schnee #rwby fic #Pyrrha x Winter #Winter x Pyrrha #my writing

[drunktuesdays]

rules: tag 9 people you want to get to know better. i was tagged by @cant-not, a woman i am currently learning is a russian nesting doll of blogs

last song: i'm often not cool enough for this kind of question, because the reality is that the actual last song i listened to was "don't take the girl" by tim mcgraw because i was talking to niko vivathewilddog about melodramatic mpreg, and i listened to it five times today. but the last "cool" song i added to my liked songs on spotify was "you just didn't like me that much" by leanna firestone which is legit a great song

last show: hmm....the last show i finished was probably tlou? or interview with a vampire? does that count? i really don't know the difference between this question and the one underneath it. i honestly don't remember the last time i made it to an actual series finale bc tbh i have the attention span of a gnat when it comes to tv, and i WILL abandon things so easy. even things i like......why...

currently watching: i'm usually caught up on yellowjackets, succession, and 911. i've been halfway through abbot elementary, the bear and only murders in the building for months on account of my previously mentioned terrible attention span. i'm also watching lost with the gc for the first time, and i'm having the time of my LIFE.

currently reading: i literally just finished the first fifteen lives of harry august by claire north last night, and i just started the city we became by nk jemesin. i'm also mostly through my annual reread of an insane million word harry potter fic where harry has a twin brother named connor potter, and i cannot explain why i love it, and will not be defending unless you've read it, in which case, PLEASE hop in the dms.

current obsession: i'll echo laura with nyt games--i still play wordle most days, and i also play the mini and tiles. del dadvans got me back into the sims, and i've been working on a [redacted] household i cannot talk about because i've lost my mind. i'm also moving soon, so i guess my number one fandom is looking at apartments i hate and trying to imagine being happy in them..... is that cool.........................

im tagging @vivathewilddog @dadvans @lakemermaids @thevaudevillescene @immoveableobject @eggtrolls @anairbri @onlyposersfallinlove @bropunzeling

#that was so hard...coming up with 9 people.....

[theflyingfeeling]

"#no but seriously WHERE are all the BC in a shared flat in los angeles fics?? WHERE#i could come up with a plethora of plot ideas at command if that's what it takes!!"

can I have a plot idea? maybe the added pressure of "someone gave this to me" will make me actually write something for once ☠

Apart from all the Olli/Allu headcanons, here's a few I just came up with off the top of my head, with various ships:

Jetlagged Joel wandering to the kitchen in the middle of the night to find a snack, but instead he finds Niko (also jetlagged) and they end up having an emotional talk, reflecting on the past two years: everything that's changed in all of their lives, how far they've come as a band and how far they're still gonna go 🥺 The others find the two of them in the morning, having fallen asleep on the couch in each others arms 💕

The BC Cali house doesn't have a pool (they really wanted a pool, but then Tommi took a look at the BC bank account and told them they don't need one). However, upon arriving at their rented house for the first time, they immediately notice their next door neighbour has one 👀 Being antisocial Finns, none of them don't need to go for a swim that much that they would go and knock on the pool neighbour's door and politely invite themselves for a brisk dip (since they have come all the way from the far north where there's eternal winter and all the bodies of water are frozen at all times, and besides it would be far too dangerous with all the polar bears and killer seals), but then, on one of their morning walks around the block, they ran into their neigbour across the street (they stop to pet her dog), and they're told that the pool neighbour is on a vacation abroad and won't be coming home until after Christmas. 4/5 of them think nothing of it, but Aleksi's menacing brain is immediately intrigued 😏 later that day, when everyone else has already retreated to their bedrooms, Aleksi knocks on Joonas' door and asks him if he wants to do something crazy 🤭 and of course Joonas does, especially if it includes nudity 😌 up to you to decide how the story continues!💦

And let us not forget the classic: from the pictures they saw of the house, there was definitely supposed to be 5 beds. Joel had looked at the pictures many times, and clearly there were TWO rooms, one with three single beds (although one of them seems to be dwarf-sized), and another with a wider bed that Joel was SURE was just two single beds pushed together. Porko is happy to share (because of course he is), but Joel is determined to sleep in the living room, on the scruffy leather sofa that is very obviously way too small for him. After a few nights of stubbornly trying to make himself comfortable on the tiny (and sort of smelly) sofa, Joel finally gives in and joins Joonas and Mr. Pork (the pig plushie) in the master bedroom. Maybe waking up to Joonas playing with Joel's hair is not the worst fate after all...

Next I'm asking you to humour me a little and imagine they could afford a place with seperate bedrooms for everyone. And because Olli/Allu is the cutest ship that ever was, let's imagine them claiming bedrooms next to each other. And then imagine them just staying up in the other's bedroom talking about important stuff (the new songs, the cute dog they saw earlier when they went grocery shopping). And neither of them wanting the other to go to their own bedroom, but they're both too shy and insecure to suggest they share the bed, just for tonight. Olli loitering at the doorframe until he can't come up with anything new to say, and finally dragging himself to his bedroom, mentally kicking himself for being such a coward (Aleksi does the same after Olli has closen the door). Olli being about to turn off the bedside light when he hears a faint knock on the wall by his bed (the wall he shares with Allu). I'd ask you to imagine them coming up with a secret knocking code to communicate with each night after saying goodnight, but that would be way too cute and sappy, wouldn't it? 🥺 Not to mention Olli trying to figure out how to spell "I love you" with the knocking code 💕

To jump into a completely different kind of vibe with no transition whatsover: the house is great alright, but it appears the lock on the bathroom door is not working 🤔 This, however, they don't notice, until Olli - still half asleep - is about to go take a leak the first thing in the morning, and ends up walking in on Joel having is morning wank shower 😳 It's all kinda awkward for a moment, and Joel's climax enjoying-the-nice-hot-shower face (you know the one) is now imprinted on Olli's brain and he doesn't know what to do about it 😩 (somehow, walking in on people in the bathroom becomes his "things" during their stay (perhaps because he keeps forgetting about the malfunctioning lock after every nights' sleep); one morning he runs into Joonas blowing Niko under the shower 😐 another morning he catches a glimpse of that juicy Kaunisvesi peach 🍑👀 he's not a perv though, it just keeps happening! 😬)

#blind channel rpf #more? 😌 #i'm also happy to discuss any of these further. just hmu 💖 #or if you're not inspired yet just give me a ship and a trope or something and i'll see what i can do! #coming up with fic ideas is honestly my favourite pastime 🥰 #my own brain is still recovering from the past few weeks i've had (more like months more like years) #but i hope i'll soon be able to get back to writing myself ✨

[geniusgub]

north//chapter nineteen

genre: fluff!! some angst

warnings: mentions of prison, ptsd and its symptoms (flashbacks, kinda)

word count: 6.1k

summary: spencer gets home and amelia helps him keep his head on straight.

pairing: season twelve/thirteen spencer reid x oc

AMELIA

Stepping back into my apartment after being away for over twenty-four hours is such a relief. Spencer, for some reason, didn't want to go back to his own apartment, so I happily bring him right to mine.

He's half asleep in my passenger seat, his head resting against the window and his hand smushed against his cheek. Despite the challenging circumstances, at every red light, I gaze over to admire how adorable he looks with puffy cheeks and flushed skin. He's fighting sleep as we journey to my apartment, and even though I've told him that he doesn't have to, I still see him forcing his eyes open every few seconds.

When we're just a few minutes from my apartment, I finally speak up. "So," I murmur, and he lifts his head slightly, "do you wanna do anything when we get home, or do you wanna go right to sleep?"

Spencer shakes his head and adjusts his position so he's leaning more towards me, his head almost resting on my shoulder. "I'm really tired but I'm hungry. And I wanna shower too. Do you have my stuff at your apartment still?"

"Of course I do, doll," I smile, reaching my hand over to rest on his cheek, keeping my eyes on the road. "I have your go-bag too. So a shower, some food, and then sleep. We can do that," Spencer turns his head and kisses my palm, capturing my hand in his and bring them into his lap. I pull up in front of my apartment and park my car, smiling over at my hazy and sleepy boyfriend. "Here, Spence."

We climb out of my car and go trudging up to my apartment, and I push my keys into the lock. I twist it but it doesn't make the clicking sound to tell me it's unlocked, so I pull out the keys. I put them in again and twist one more time, and when the lock doesn't click, I pull the keys out for the second time. I figure that my friends might just be major idiots and have forgotten to lock the door after they left yesterday, so I tuck the keys in my pocket and twist the knob. It pops right open. Great. My door has been unlocked for over twenty-four hours.

Spencer isn't paying much mind to this though as we trudge in, kicking off our shoes. I hang up my jacket and turn to Spencer to ask for his jacket so I can put it in the washer, but his gaze is somewhere else. I follow where he's looking and find that the balcony doors are slightly open, and I roll my eyes. This keeps happening to me. These damn balcony doors. Between the balcony and front doors being open, I'm surprised that all of my belongings aren't completely gone.

"Don't worry about it, Spence," I tell him, dramatically flipping the lock on my front door so we can both hear the clicking noise and then padding across my apartment to flip the lock on the balcony door. Honestly though, my hands are trembling as I touch the knobs. Why are my door continuously unlocked? I try to brush it off for Spencer's sake. "My friends were here when I left to pick you up and I'm sure they forgot to close and lock everything. It's fine. It's not a big deal. Don't worry about it."

Spencer nods and rubs his eyes, then begins to speak through a loud yawn. "You should yell at your friends."

It's just another moment of the old Spencer shining through the armor that the new Spencer is wearing. This exhausted and bleary and witty version of my boyfriend is who I have embedded in my brain, not the version who yells at me and throws books at walls and jumps away from my touch. I wish I could frame this moment and hang it on the wall.

"Come on," I wave him towards the kitchen and he follows me blindly, falling into a barstool at the island, leaning his elbows against the granite. The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up and his forearms are far too distracting for anyone's good, and I have to tear my eyes away from him before I get carried away. I'm just too deprived of sex and satisfaction that maybe any intimate sight of Spencer will get me going. Even if it's his hands, or his forearms, or his fingers-- oh god, look away.

"Is there anything specific you want?" I take a glance through my fridge at the ingredients I have before turning back to him. His hands are on his cheeks now, distorting his face in that same adorable way it was in the car. "I'll make you whatever you're feeling."

"Just something, um," he speaks quietly, "easy. Pancakes, or something."

"Sure, I can do that," I reach into the cupboard and pull out the pancake mix, retrieving a bowl and a skillet.

"I'm gonna go put a record on," Spencer drags himself out of his chair and into the living room and I can hear him rummaging through the mess in there.

He's utterly exhausted. I've seen him tired after cases, but never liked this. He can barely even speak a full sentence or walk in a straight line. So I combine ingredients quickly, hoping that the stove warms up at lightning speed so I can cook these pancakes as fast as possible. I want to get Spencer food, and then into a shower, and then into bed. I couldn't care less about my needs. I just can't bear seeing him dragging himself around like this anymore.

My ears perk up when the record scratches and then the music starts, and State of Grace by Taylor Swift starts playing. I watch Spencer come back in and sit down again, his eyes closed as he absorbs the music. I expected him to put on one of the many classical records I have, like Mozart or Beethoven or Brahms. But no, he put on Taylor Swift. I choose not to comment on the music choice and instead, I pour the batter on the hot skillet.

It's only five minutes before I have a stack of pancakes and I've run out of batter. I turn off the burner and divide up the pancakes onto two plates, grabbing two forks and the maple syrup from the fridge. Spencer gives me a tiny smile as he reaches for his plate, digging in without even waiting for the syrup.

I drizzle a fair amount of syrup on my own pancakes and then pick up my fork, about to eat my first meal in twenty-four hours, but then I look at Spencer. He's scarfing down his food like his life depends on it, and I wonder if he's even chewing it at all. His head is bowed all the way down, nose almost touching the pancake stack as he snakes his fork under his chin, and his free hand is on the table with his fingers spread, and before I can blink again, he's halfway through his plate.

"Hey, hey, Spence," I reach my hand out for him, but he doesn't react. This is what happened when he threw the book. He got in his head, then I touched him, and he freaked out. I can't let that happen again. So I sit up on my knees and lean toward him, placing my hands flat against the table so, again, he can see that I don't plan on touching him or using them against him. "Spencer, look at me," he digs his fork into the pancake but his hand falters, slowing down. "Eyes up here, dove."

Spencer's eyes slowly travel up until they lock with mine, and they hold the same panicked qualities that they did post-book-throwing. I offer him a smile, but he doesn't give one back, not that I expected him to.

"Spencer," I speak slowly and calmly, "nobody's here. It's just you and me. You can slow down. You have all the time in the world to eat," Spencer takes a labored breath through his nose and shakes his head, closing his eyes. "I promise, dove, and you know I don't break my promises. You can slow down, you can just be with me. You're with me, and that's it."

"It's just--" he hangs his head and then opens his eyes, staring at his half-empty plate, "sitting like this. It feels-- it feels like-- it just-- it's--"

For some reason, I understand what he can't say. From how he's sitting in such a defensive and protected position and now he's saying that there's a problem with how he's sitting, it makes sense to me. Somehow, sitting like his makes him think of sitting and eating in prison and having to, I don't know, protect his food, maybe. I don't know much of anything about prison but I didn't think that it would change the way he eats meals.

"Okay, okay," I cut off his stuttering, nodding softly so I can seem as understanding as possible. "Come on then," I pull back my hands and grab my plate, sliding off the barstool and pressing my back against the kitchen cabinets, slowly sliding down. "How about we sit on the floor? Would that be okay?"

Spencer stares at me sliding onto the floor and it takes him quite a while to grab onto his plate and join me. He slides down beside me and extends his legs in front of him, setting his plate on his lap. He takes a long, deep breath and starts slicing into his pancakes again, much slower this time.

"Is this better?" I ask softly. "You can tell me if it's not because we could move somewhere else," I start to cut into my own food again, keeping my eyes on him.

"Yeah," he murmurs, and then he slumps down a little bit more so he can rest his head on my shoulder. Spencer is eating like a snail now, moving his hand so slowly that I have to keep looking down to make sure he hasn't fallen asleep on my shoulder. We just eat in tense silence, and as badly as I want to touch him and comfort him and smother him in love like I imagined I would be by now, I get the feeling that he would hate that and it would overwhelm him.

Not surprisingly, Spencer finishes his pancakes before me and gently places his fork down on his plate, setting his trembling hands flat on his lap. I expect Spencer to get up and discard his plate in the sink or the dishwasher and then head upstairs and jump in a shower, but he doesn't move. He stays right beside me with his head on my shoulder so I start to pick up my eating pace so we can get going. If he's not going to move without me then I don't want to make him sit here forever.

"Can I take your plate for you?" I whisper once I've finally finished my pancakes. The sun has fully risen and is blaring through the windows, and it feels so twisted to be so exhausted, so early in the morning.

Spencer nods, but he doesn't offer the plate up to me. I pick it up off his lap gingerly and wait for Spencer to lift his head before standing, putting them in the sink to deal with later. I turn back to Spencer, who's still on the floor, and hold my hands out to him to help him up. He looks at my feet first, and then incredibly slowly drags his eyes up my body until his eyes lock with mine. He seems so distant. He seems so far away and so far gone. His eyes are glossed over and his movements are like that of a sloth, starkly contrasting his quick actions just a few minutes before.

I very gently thrust my hands forward again, wiggling my fingers in his direction to get his attention. "Let's go get you in a shower, okay? I bet it'll make you feel a lot better."

Spencer looks up at me with a heartbreaking gaze, as if he can't even see me. As if he's staring right through me. As if he can't even see me at all. But then he pushes himself up by his lonesome and runs his hands down his face.

"Um," he breathes, his voice so low that I barely hear it, "thank you for-- you know, for the food," He keeps his eyes down on the floor, his body turned slightly away from me as if he's cowering from my touch again.

"No need to thank me, love. But let's just head upstairs and get you into a shower, okay?" I wave him out of the kitchen and he slumps off towards the stairs.

I watch him go, and once he gets on the first step, I go into the living room to shut off the record that Spencer has put on. Taylor Swift, huh? I have to make a mental note to ask Spencer about that when we're better rested.

Once I've put the record away, I follow Spencer up the stairs and I find him rummaging through my closet, already having dumped out all the items from his go-bag on the bed. His back is turned to me, too focused on finding clothes in my closet. I go to the pile of clothes and separate the work clothes from his pajamas, making two separate sections for him and trying to smooth out wrinkles from the fabrics.

"Sweets," even when I speak, he doesn't acknowledge my presence, "what are you looking for in there? I know you've got some clothes in there but you've got two whole sets of pajamas right here. They're clean, I've cleaned these clothes."

"I need a white tee-shirt," Spencer tells me and his voice is sharper now. It's not quiet and timid like in the kitchen. It's the exact opposite of the man that was just in my apartment a moment ago.

"Why?" I look down at the pair of pajama pants and the crew neck on the bed in front of me, right next to a different pair of pajamas, a matching silk set that Spencer commonly wears to sleep. Why isn't this good enough for him? If anything, this will keep him more comfortable during bed than just a tee-shirt. "There's two pajama sets right here for you that--"

"I need a white tee shirt, okay?!" Spencer snaps, turning his head to me, but still never looking me in the eye. "I need to wear a white tee-shirt to bed!"

I let out a shaky breath at the venom dripping from his mouth, reaching for the clothes in front of me and just grasping them in my hand, grasping for something to ground me. Although, maybe I'm not the one who needs the grounding right now.

I hear Spencer sigh behind me as he finds a white tee-shirt, and when he comes to the bed beside me, he takes a pair of pajama pants and boxers out of my hands. I move around him to put the other clothes back into his go bag, setting it in the corner of the room and then sifting through my closet for a crew neck and a pair of shorts. I do everything in my power to forgive and forget the moment that is making my hands tremble and my head dizzy. Spencer never yells. And he definitely never yells at me.

I hear the bathroom door open as I put my clothes onto the bed and pull off my tank top, but when I don't hear the water turn on, I turn to check on Spencer. He's still standing in the doorway, clutching his clothes in his hands and staring at the shower door.

"Spence?" He jumps when I speak his name as if he momentarily forgot that I was in the same room as him. And when he turns to me, he's back to the man he was in the kitchen. Quiet, timid, desperate. His eyes are pleading for me, and I feel helpless knowing I don't know exactly how to help him. I disregard my clothes and walk toward him, but don't make an effort to touch him. "Love, you can shower, it's okay. You'll feel much better when you wash off all the sweat and grossness of the--" I pause, wanting to say one certain word but knowing I shouldn't. I settle with a safer word, "day."

Spencer pouts his pretty lips and his hands tighten around the pile of clothes in his hands. "Could you-- um-- could you come with me? I don't wanna be alone right now," and perhaps it seems like a rude comparison, but he looks like a small child. He looks like a child who's woken up from a nightmare, clutching his pillow to his chest, asking his mom to come to his room to scare away the monster under his bed. But I'll never be able to scare away the monster under Spencer's bed. We both know that and we both seem to be ignoring it. For now, we'll pretend that I can remedy every issue in the world and continue on with our day.

I toss my tank top into the hamper across the room and then walk over to Spencer, leaning against the doorframe across from him. "Are you gonna be comfortable with that, dove?"

Spencer nods quickly, his hair falling in front of his eyes. "I'll be okay. I really don't wanna be alone. I want you."

I glance at the shower and then back at Spencer with his greasy hair and his half-lidded eyes and his hunched shoulders, and I nod. If he gets uncomfortable again, I'll just get out. He needs a shower more than me anyway, and if I need to get out of the shower because he doesn't want me touching him, then it's not the end of the world. Spencer breathes a sigh of relief and steps fully into the bathroom, setting his clothes on the sink counter. I grab two towels from the closet and start the shower, leaving the door open a crack so the steam can escape.

Spencer strips off his clothes before I do and, holy shit, I almost gasp. Now, for the millionth time, I have no idea what prison is like. I only know tiny bits of what Spencer went through, like getting beat up and eventually stabbing himself and getting thrown into solitary confinement. I don't know what he did during the time that he was stuck in his cell by himself, or what he did to pass the time when he wasn't in his cell. Honestly, I don't really know what he did at all in prison.

But holy shit. Spencer's arms are far more toned than I remember them to be and his stomach is too, and if Derek Morgan were here, I'd bet good money that he would be impressed. Even Spencer's calves and quads look more toned than before, and every time he moves, every one of his muscles flexes in the most delicious and sexy way. How much did he work out in prison? Did he work out every second of every day? I wasn't expecting this type of transformation from him, but he's been full of surprises. And after a moment of staring, I wonder if this is a good change or not.

"Why are you staring?" Spencer has just reached for the waistband of his boxers but paused when he saw me standing still and staring, then his hands stilled.

"Um," I have to physically jerk my head to the side to break my gaze and force my eye line up to his pupils, "sorry, I was just-- you--"

"I what?" Spencer retorts, and thankfully, he doesn't sound angry. He sounds genuinely curious.

"You just look different. More, you know, muscular," I try to choose my words carefully because I don't want to offend him. I don't want to make it seem like I hate his body now, or that I hated his body before prison because neither is the case. I could never hate his body. I'm not with him for his body. His body is beautiful regardless. This is just such a difference from what I'm used to seeing from my boyfriend. This is just another part of him that has been taken away from him. His soft body is gone as if he has morphed himself into an intimidating alpha male. I never wanted an alpha male. I've only ever wanted my Spencer.

"I worked out a lot," Spencer mumbles vaguely. He barely tells me any details about prison. The most he told me was while we were eating. And even still, he didn't give me specifics during dinner. He left me to guess exactly what was wrong. It's all been vague so far. I'm not sure if that's because he's protecting me or because he just can't bring himself to talk about it yet.

"Let's get in the shower so we can get some sleep," I want to nudge him towards the open shower curtain and the warm, streaming water. But Spencer moves on his own, shuffling towards the shower and quickly discarding his boxers.

He seems hesitant to get into the water at first, just standing at the edge of the tub and letting the water hit his toes first. Spencer stares at the stream of water, reaching his foot out a bit more to get his ankle and shin wet. I watch him carefully for a moment, just to make sure he doesn't freak out like he has a few times already today.

Spencer's head turns to me and he gives me a pleading look, his eyebrows scrunched up and his bottom lip between his teeth. He's clearly keeping tears at bay, trying to prevent his chin from quivering. "Lia," he stammers, but doesn't say anything else. A single tear falls down his cheek.

I quickly pull off my undergarments and move the shower door back a little bit more, stepping into the tub so I'm in the stream of water. I hold my hands out for him, and this time, he actually grabs onto them. I draw him closer to me. Not closer to the stream of water, but just closer to my body.

"It's just water, Spence," I tip my head back and wet my mane of curls, matting them down to my head. "It actually feels really good."

"It's just," Spencer shuffles just a little bit closer to me. The tips of his toes touch mine, his whole body flinching when a droplet of water ricochets off of me and hits his chest, "the showers were always cold."

"Oh," I turn and look at the knobs behind me that control the water temperature, "I can make it cold if you want. It's not a big deal if--"

"No, no, I don't want that," he shakes his head, clutching my hands tightly in his. "I don't wanna take another cold shower. It just feels weird. I'm not used to it."

I scrunch up my nose, unlacing our hands and tracing my fingertips up his forearms. I wonder if I should even let myself touch his biceps because if I do, I might completely lose my cool and want to jump his bones. Clearly, he's not ready for sex or any kind of physical intimacy. I didn't even expect us to be showering together any time soon. "I don't like cold showers, either. You know that. Do you wanna get under the water?"

Spencer nods and grabs my hands again, switching our spots so he's directly under the stream. I don't let go of him as he sighs of relief, the water falling over his face and making his hair stick to his forehead. He closes his eyes, dropping his shoulders down. This is, by far, the most relaxed I've seen him all day. He seemed to be relaxed in the car, but now, he has completely let his guard down for the first time. It's a beautiful sight, truly. It's beautiful to see him running his hands through his hair and reaching for his shampoo and fluttering his eyelids. He's always been so beautiful.

I shave my legs while Spencer washes his body, and he spends quite a lot of time doing so. I'm not surprised that he wants to wash every germ off his body, I'd expected that much. And we keep in silence, just washing away the stress and drama and hardships of the last few months. I wish that a simple shower could wash away all the pain that we've been cursed with, but I know that this pain may never go away. The pain of this time will always linger, no matter how hard we try to eradicate it.

"Are you gonna shave?" I ask, switching places one more time with Spencer so I could wash my face.

"You said you liked it so--"

"Yeah, but it's your face. If you wanna shave, then shave. Don't let me stop you," I wipe away the soap from my eyes and smile at Spencer, gesturing to where his razor still sits along the wall.

Spencer runs his hands over his face, feeling his mustache and beard on his fingertips. "I'll keep it for now. Maybe tomorrow I'll clean it up a little but I don't wanna deal with it today."

"Well let's go get some sleep, okay?" I turn around and shut off the water, wringing out my hair so it doesn't drip onto the floor. Spencer gets out and quickly wraps himself in a towel, and when I step out a moment after him, he hands my towel to me. "Thanks."

I head out of the bathroom and reach for my clothes, pulling on a pair of underwear and one of Spencer's old tee-shirts. I dry off my hair a little bit and sit on the edge of the bed, putting lotion on my legs and keeping my eyes on the bathroom door for when Spencer eventually comes out.

He takes forever to get dressed, but when he does, he's wearing a pair of sweatpants and a white tee-shirt, his hair soaked and hanging over his forehead. He drops his towel in the hamper and then he turns on his heel to join me in bed, but freezes in his spot when he sees my towel on the floor. He quickly picks it up off the floor and puts it into the hamper, then he scans the floor of the room for anything else that could be out of place.

"Babe?" I close off the lid on my bottle of lotion and put it away, watching him put a pair of my shoes into the closet and then jam the door closed. "Spencer, if you really wanna clean, do it when you can actually keep your eyes open. Come get some sleep, please."

Spencer lets out an exasperated sigh as his hands drop from the closet handle, and then they smooth through his hair. He nods silently, and his toes drag against the carpet as he brings himself towards the bed.

He falls onto his side, pulling back the duvet and slipping under, letting out a sound close to a moan as his body sinks into the bed. His head falls onto the pillow and he moans louder, his body wiggling under the covers. I smile at his pure and unfiltered ecstasy and pleasure, doing the same and slipping under the duvet with him.

I keep a bit of distance between us though. Usually, I'd slide my leg through his and wrap my arms around his waist and rest my head on his chest and get as close to him as I possibly can. But he's so caught up in the familiarity and comfortability of my bed that I don't want to overwhelm him by touching him. I want him to enjoy his first time in a proper bed in months and not worry about my hands on his skin.

I let out a roaring yawn, rolling onto my side to face Spencer. Now that I'm laying in bed, my exhaustion is setting in yet again. I pull the duvet up to my chin and close my eyes, trying to let myself drift off to sleep.

I'm just about to dip into dreamland when I feel Spencer shift beside me, facing me. I try to ignore it, try to bring myself closer to sleep, try to let us both get the rest that we so desperately need. But I can sense Spencer's gaze on me, and as hard as I try to, I can't ignore it. I just want him to go to sleep. I want him to sleep so he can regenerate and hopefully feel better whenever it is that we wake up. But my forehead is burning with his stare and I can't stop feeling it. Clearly, something is affecting him and that's why he hasn't tried to sleep yet.

To my surprise, Spencer's voice is the one to break through the silence. "Baby?" He's shaky. He's trembling. He's unsure.

I open my eyes, seeing tears pouring down his cheeks and his hand in midair, just a few inches in front of my face. "Spencer," I breathe, watching his hand drops onto the bed between us. "What's wrong?" Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, and his hand clutches the bed sheet until his knuckles turn white. He breathes in harshly through his nose and he draws his knees up to his chest, curling into a tiny ball. "Dove, talk to me."

Spencer's other hand comes down to the bed to join his other, squeezing so tightly that I fear he might rip a hole in the fabric. I see his arms start to shake with the force he's using to hold the bedsheet, hot tears streaming down his cheeks and staining the pillow. He hiccups, but not too loud. Barely loud enough for me to hear. "Lia," he sobs, completely breaking down right before my eyes, "please hold me."

I want to jump his bones. I want to get on top of him and smother him in love and affection and kisses. I want to give him everything I know we've both been craving for months. I want to give him exactly what he's asking for. But I've spent most of my day doing what I can to not overwhelm him and that's not going to change now.

I debate for a moment on how I should touch him first. Should I wipe his tears? Should I hold his hand? Should I wrap my arm around his waist? Should I drag my fingers along his arm? What could I do that won't freak him out?

But then I notice, again, that his eyes are closed. His eyes are squeezed shut and he's not looking at me. I remember how he reacted in the round table room when I touched him when he couldn't see it coming. He jumped and cowered away from me. He didn't take well to getting touched without seeing it.

"Spencer," I whisper, "open your eyes." His eyebrows scrunch up at my request but he doesn't follow it. "Come on, baby, I wanna see your pretty eyes. I haven't been able to see them in so long. Open your eyes for me," I watch Spencer carefully as he holds his breath, forcing his eyelids open, releasing more tears. "There you go, Spence. Thank you, lovey. So pretty. Your eyes are so pretty."

I raise my hand and let it linger in the air for a moment before reaching towards Spencer's face. I drag my fingers along his jawline then lay my hand flat against his cheek. Spencer's lips part when he lets out a shaky sigh, nuzzling his cheek against the palm of my hand. I give him a moment to revel in this type of contact, just staring into his eyes and gauging his reaction. He isn't cowering away and he hasn't screamed at me yet, so I take that as a good sign.

I bring my other hand forward and press my fingers against the back of his hand, feeling him already start to ease his grip. I can't attest for his other hand, but he flattens his hand against the bed, allowing me to lock our fingers together in an awkward, backwards handhold.

"I've got you," I whisper, swiping my thumb across his cheeks to rid his skin of stinging tears. His eyes are locked on mine and he doesn't dare to avert his gaze from my blue eyes that I know he loves so much.

Spencer sucks in a breath and tugs on my hand, wanting me even closer. So I wiggle my hips to diminish the gap between us, leaving some space still. I move my head so we're sharing a pillow, the same pillow that I used to clutch when I was missing Spencer so intensely that I needed to smell his cologne and remember that he would come home to me soon.

"It hurts," he slurs, and his eyelids are so heavy that he can barely keep them open. But he fights with all his strength against the sleep that wants to suck him in, sticking his eyes to me. His eyes plead for help, a type of help that I don't know if I can provide.

"Oh, my baby," I coo, bringing my face right in front of him, "you're safe. You're home. You don't have to go back to that horrible place again. You're right here and you can rest, okay? It's okay to rest now."

I feel him moving under the sheets and it takes everything in me to not look at what he's doing. But I feel his legs touching mine, and then one of his slips between mine a moment later. Even though he initiated this contact, I wait, yet again, for his reaction. His face doesn't change.

"Can I touch you some more?" Spencer nods quickly, his facial hair scratching my palm. "Can I hug you?" He nods again, and with this obvious consent, I almost sigh of relief.

I slide my hand down Spencer's neck, then down his arm, and to his stomach. I wrap my arm around his waist, pulling my body forward so I'm flush against him. With this, he finally lets his eyelids flutter closed, lips parted as he breathes heavily. His skin feels so warm against mine and I can already feel beads of sweat collecting at my hairline, but I ignore their presence.

"Go to sleep," I murmur, bringing our entwined hands up to the pillow between our faces. "I'm here right now, I'm gonna be here when you wake up, I'm gonna be here tomorrow, and the day after, and the next day, and every day after that. I'm not going anywhere. And if you need me then don't hesitate to wake me up. But I need you to get some sleep, okay? Can you do that for me?" Spencer nods yet again, and he flips his hand around so we can properly hold hands. I smile at his responsiveness. "Let me hear you say it, doll."

Spencer nuzzles his cheek against the pillow, scooting a bit closer to me. "I'm gonna try to get some sleep."

"Good," I slip my hand under his tee shirt and rest it flat against his hot skin, earning a small gasp from him, but I don't do any more than that. "I'm right here, baby boy. I'm not gonna let go of your hand and I'm not gonna get out of bed before you. I'll be right here the whole time. I promise, I'm not going anywhere."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

"I love you," Spencer whispers but his words are barely coherent as his exhaustion becomes too much to handle. His lips are barely moving and his grip on my hand, and on the sheets, are loosening.

"I love you too, dove."

I watch him closely until I know, for sure, that he's fallen asleep. I wouldn't want his eyes to pop open again and for him to panic. But I keep my promise and I don't let go of his hand, or move my hand from in his shirt, or get out of bed. I just close my eyes and drift off into the most restless sleep I've had yet.

TAGLIST

@babybloodstonebones @bxnnywriting @blameitonthenight21 @feralreid @anepiphany @reidscardigan @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @4x24 @whollytaciturn @thegingerfairchild @yasminwashere @shrimpyblog @anamelessfacelessnerd @wonderlandhatter @whxt-to-write @just-call-me-non @imagining-in-the-margins @boldlyvoid @homoose @gubler-me-up @thundergunexpresss @eideticmemory @andiebeaword

#nikos north fic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #matthew gray gubler #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #dr reid

[ahsurika]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: RWBY Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Pyrrha Nikos/Weiss Schnee Characters: Pyrrha Nikos, Weiss Schnee Additional Tags: Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drabble Sequence, Kissing Series: Part 1 of North Pole Collection Summary:

There are all sorts of advantages to having a girlfriend whose height is not quite yours.

8x100 about the heiress and the athlete.

Forgot to tag @schneekosweek, sorry!

#pyrrhaposting #north pole #I was told there was a #schneekosweek2021 #so have a fic my dear fellow rarepair enthusiasts #pyrrha nikos fic #weiss schnee fic

[hanasaku-shijin]

279. Step By Step

Series: RWBY

Characters: Weiss & Pyrrha,

Words: 3,365

Genres: Hurt/Comfort, Romance

Summary: Becoming closer can be a struggle, but often times the rewards are well worth the effort.

||  PATREON  ||  KO-FI  || COMMISSION INFO  ||

A/N: Yes, I'm sorry, yet another old rp turned to a fic, but this one is with a different partner so hopefully you won't get tired of the same writing styles (just mine haha). And it's some good old Schneekos, from simpler times. It's a throwback to volume 1 and 2 days.

[Happy RWBY Tuesday!]

---------

Step By Step

Chapter 1. Reservations

Weiss paced back and forth across her vacant dorm room. Vacant, because Beacon's mid-semester break had recently begun, and her teammates had all gone off to visit relatives.

However, going home to her father wasn't exactly Weiss' idea of a relaxing break, so she'd opted to stay at school. She might've felt a bit better if Ruby and Yang had left Zwei behind to keep her company, but they were going to visit their father, so Weiss understood why they'd taken the dog along with them.

But despite the emptiness of her room, Weiss wasn't entirely alone at school this week.

Across the hallway, team JNPR had headed out as well - all of them but one. Pyrrha had decided to stay at school as well, and it hadn't taken long for the two of them to discover the other's situation was similar to her own.

It was fairly impulsive on Weiss' part, probably due to her jitters whenever she was around the crimson-haired girl, but she'd blurted out a proposal to her, a simple offer to go to lunch together tomorrow.

Keep Reading

#RWBY #Weiss Schnee #Pyrrha Nikos #Schneekos #North Pole #JNPR #my writing #rwby fic 279 #i swear this is one of the last rps then imma find time to write other rwby things

[born-to-lose]

Secret Santa

Pairing: Olli Matela x reader

Requested by @matelas

Summary: The boys organize Secret Santa to get you and Olli to finally confess your feelings.

Tags: Secret Santa, fluff

Words: 1,112

A/N: As usual with my Olli fics, big thanks to Luka for the idea! Love you bro <3

Tag list: @warriorteam1924 @slashscowboyboots @losers-yurio @lost-in-the-80s @lucyboytom @blood-on-blood @halloween-chick-in-love-with-cas @jennyggggrrr @tuffduff @jonesyownsmyheart @rhyetaylor62 @necro-fucks @the-killer-queenie @dumbass-of-darkness @mikeywaysboyfriend @disrespectfullcalum @kyrju @smells-like-perfect-senses @sweetnightowl @whoreforblindchannel @kellyrosie @thetimecrystal @wearenosaints @wow-ihateithere

Tip me if you want!

"Why don't we do Secret Santa this year?" Joel suggested, sitting down with two bottles of beer in his hands, giving Joonas one of them.

Everyone liked the idea and Niko, Joel, Joonas, Aleksi and Tommi wrote their names on squared paper while you and Olli used plain paper ripped out of your notebook, putting the folded scraps of paper in Niko's hat. The guys drew their names first before passing it on to you and Olli.

They did this on purpose. It was a known fact to anyone who hung out with you that the two of you had a crush on each other, but you were just so damn oblivious that they had a feeling they needed to help make it happen. You were really close and spent a lot of time together, which made it even less comprehensible that neither of you had the slightest idea of the other's feelings.

To be fair, it was kind of cute how you both thought you could hide it from everyone else, but after half a year, it only became frustrating for your friends who kept trying to play matchmaker and you were still clueless.

You unfolded your paper and read Olli's name, briefly glancing at him, who was looking at you after reading the name on his piece of paper as well.

You already knew exactly what you were going to get him.

When it came to music, Olli was very passionate about collecting rarities. Something he had been looking for for a while was a signed vinyl of an album of his favorite band that was extremely hard to find. At every record store he had visited, they only had the regular vinyl - which was a live album that was already rare as it is - but never the signed one.

He was so determined to add it to his record collection that he regularly checked eBay and one day he finally found it there. However, it turned out to be way more expensive than he had thought and he ended up not buying it because he didn't have that much money to spare.

You remembered how sad he had been when he had told you that he finally came across the vinyl, but he couldn't get it, so now you decided to order it for him as a Christmas present. He hadn't mentioned it in a while, but you knew he still wanted it; he just gave up because a cheaper version was nowhere to be found.

Olli remembered every little detail about you, so it was no surprise he didn't have to think too long to come up with the perfect gift. Ages ago while you had been walking around town, you had stopped by a jeweler's window, staring at a silver, dangly necklace with a diamond North Star pendant with a sky blue topaz in the center.

You had talked about this necklace for a couple of days afterwards and although you probably forgot about it for now, he hoped you'd appreciate the gift. It was quite pricey and he wasn't rich either, but that's how much you meant to him. Besides, it would be worth it to see you wearing it because he knew you would look even prettier than usual.

The day before Christmas, you all received the gifts from your Secret Santas. "Oh, so we both got each other," Olli chuckled, handing you the box. "I hope you like it."

You smiled and gave him his present as well. "I'm sure I will. I hope you like yours too."

When it was time to unwrap the gifts, you watched the boys laugh about their funnily stupid presents before you finally untied the blue ribbon that was around the black box. You lifted the lid and you froze as you saw the North Star necklace you had walked past so many times, secretly wishing someone would buy it for you - but you didn't think anyone actually would.

Olli always did unexpected things to make you happy, but they were usually smaller gifts, events and the like. He certainly didn't have money to burn and he didn't buy everyone expensive things. At least not for the ones who weren't really special to him. Hell, you weren't even sure if this price range was normal for gifts for his best friends.

Perhaps he cared about you more than you had previously thought. Was he maybe also in love with you?

Olli smiled as he watched your reaction and you looked at him, whispering, "Thank you so much, Olli."

"You're welcome," he said, visibly relieved that you liked the gift. Then he shyly asked, "Should I help you put it on?"

You nodded and scooted closer to him, taking the necklace out of the box and handing it to him. You turned around for him to put it around your neck and fasten the clasp before you turned to face him again.

"Wow, it looks beautiful on you!"

"Thank you. But now open your gift!" you asked, slowly getting impatient.

He unwrapped his present and as he read the tracklist on the back of the record sleeve, he started, "Oh, thank- wait."

When he turned the record around to see that it was the signed vinyl he had been searching for for so long, he looked up at you with puppy eyes. He wanted to jokingly yell at you if you had even seen the price, but he was speechless at this moment. You really cared about him that much to spend hundreds of euros on a vinyl? "You remembered?"

"Y-yeah? You were so sad when you couldn't buy it," you stammered.

You stared at each other for a minute before he leaned over to place his hand on your cheek and kiss you.

"Fucking finally!" the boys cheered. "We thought it would never happen."

You both gave them confused looks and you tilted your head. "What do you mean?"

Tommi laughed. "You guys have obviously had a crush on each other for a while."

Olli tried to hide his face behind his hand in embarrassment and you just looked down at your feet, chewing on your lip.

"All our matchmaking attempts failed, so we had to come up with something else," Aleksi added.

"Wait, how did you make sure we had to get gifts for each other?" Olli asked, frowning.

"We used squared paper and you two didn't," Niko shrugged. "It was all planned through."

Joel pointed at the two of you with a grin. "Don't tell us it didn't work!"

Olli put an arm around your waist and intertwined his fingers with yours. "Who said it didn't?"

#mel writes #olli matela #olli matela x reader #olli matela imagine #olli matela fic #blind channel #blind channel x reader #blind channel imagine #blind channel fic

[notasapleasure]

Tagged by @bacchanalium - thanks my friend!

Favorite colours: today I'm finding it hard to pick, they're all beautiful. But I'll usually default to British racing green, a good rich purple, and, more and more these days, golden-orange (good lord, Jo! I hear you say, When did that become a colour you loved instead of one that you didn't know how to appreciate? Well, I think it had something to do with a film I watched).

Currently reading: Working my way through 'The Spectral Arctic' by Shane McCorristine, which isn't written in the most engaging manner - it's not a published thesis, though it sure reads like one - but you can't keep a good subject down. Also dipping in and out of 'Antiemetic for Homesickness', a poetry collection by Romalyn Ante all about the sense of dislocation immigration leaves in you, and family, and memories of home, and the kinds of things that keep us going through long work days and difficult news. Still working my way through a collection of Georgian poems I'm trying to translate, which I absolutely adore, but it's challenging - some days I feel I have a good grasp of things, and other days I have to look up every word and it still doesn't make sense. Also now reading a novel by Jemal Karchxadze for homework.

Last Song: I can't get 'Stealing Cars' by Nadine Shah out of my head at the moment.

Last Series: I'm watching Green Planet and just finished Monty Don's Adriatic Gardens. They're good knitting TV - lots of 'man, nature is weird' moments, lots of 'whoa nature is cool' and lots of moments of the presenters having a Jolly Good Time (Sir David Attenborough poking exploding seedheads with a stick in Cambridge Botanic Gardens! Monty Don riding around a Greek estate on a golf buggy with a friendly doggy guide!). Never let it be said that I don't live a rock'n'roll lifestyle. I really need to get back into watching ჩემი ცოლის დაქალები or შუა ქალაქი though, my listening is like...A1/2 compared to B2 reading.

Oh yes! I also watched all of Around the World in 80 Days. It was very Extra(TM), but enjoyable, silly fun. I would absolutely watch the main trio go giant squid hunting if they make another series.

Sweet, savory or spicy: Savoury for preference, and spicy is good (spicy as in, it can be hot so long as it tastes of something other than pain). I'm a cheese and salt fiend before I'm a dessert fiend though, but I'm more in the habit of making cake and stuff at home these days and so get more of a sweet fix than I used to - it always tastes better homemade (with my mum's recipes), tbh.

Currently working on: Inchoate, the ATWD fic that Just Won't End. It's over 300k. Will it make 400k? I kind of hope not. I want to be able to give the characters closure. Translations of Andro's poems - rough, rough drafts on my first read and a couple I'm trying to polish up to enter into competitions. Translations for class, more Vano and Niko. My own poems(!??) for a course I signed up to that I thought was poetry analysis not...poetry composition. Knitting snoods for the dogs (shush we're going on holiday to the North in March, it will be cold for their silly houndy ears). I really, *really*, REALLY need to start reading those books I'm meant to be reviewing. Uhhh. I think that's it. For now.

Tagging: whoever wants to! But giving a non-obligatory prod to @erinaceina @notfromcold @stripedroseandsketchpads @jimtheviking @donnaimmaculata @sailorsally @sensiteave @kheldara @digitaleruckus @bellaroles

#meme #currently doing meme #tag meme #haven't done one of these in ages!

[knightofameris]

about

ameris // ame or ames // 23

she/they // queer // enfp-t

current concern: she doesn’t know if she wants short hair or long hair. also that she keeps consuming dairy products despite being lactose intolerant.

fav characters aka who i prefer writing for but is not limited to:

haikyuu — sugawara koushi, miya osamu, oikawa tooru, kuroo tetsurou, miya atsumu, kita shinsuke, suna rintarou

genshin — diluc, tartaglia, beidou, ningguang, sucrose, zhongli, lumine, xiao, thoma, itto, eula

bnha — aizawa shouta, takami keigo, kirishima eijiro, todoroki shouto, more I will add later lol

rwby — qrow branwen, pyrrha nikos, blake belladona, robyn hill

demon slayer — giyuu tomioka, mitsuri kanroji, shinobu kocho, kyojuro rengoku, tengen uzui, kanae kocho, tanjiro kamado

marvel — kate bishop, tony stark (platonically), steve rogers, peter parker, clint barton (comics), miles morales, gwen stacy, kamala khan

intro: hey! i’m ameris, or ames, i like to write a lot even tho the majority of my writing i don’t even post,,,

i’m also viet-american and I live in california so if i’m posting at 4am pst, no, i’m not.

for moots!!: feel free to ask for my discord :3c as well as,,,, my Genshin impact uid LOL (North American server)

main/personal: @thestarsintheknight

nsfw: @mxxnlitwonders

fic recs: @knightofreaders

#remaking this because I realized #JSUT how unaesthetic my old one is lol #it has less stuff but like #this is good enough #anyway #a.about

[im-the-king-of-the-ocean]

RWBY Rarepair Week Day 3, @rwbyrarepairweek

Prompt: Vampire Hunters

Pairing: Pyrruby (Pyrrha/Ruby)

*I know I said in my day 1 that Nuts and Dolts was going to be the only ship I wrote for above the preferred 100 fic line.  At the time, that was the plan, but then I got the idea for this yesterday and just sort of really liked it.  

Also, I’ve turned it into its own au, so there’s that.

AO3 Link (pls leave a comment or kudos if you enjoy <3)

.

Sanguine

“This isn’t fair.  I don’t even eat people!”  The Vampire paces around her cage.  Her silver eyes stay locked onto Pyrrha.

Pyrrha resists the urge to grab Miló, her javelin, and throw it at the creature she spent the past three weeks hunting down.

The infamous Vampire of Patch has done nothing but complain since their arrival back at her base of operations.  Pyrrha would have gagged the Vampire, but her glinting, pointy, front incisors keep the Huntress at a distance.  Detoxing from vampire venom is a pain Pyrrha really doesn’t want to deal with right now.

“You drink blood, don’t you?”  Pyrrha snaps back.  Better to keep the Vampire’s thoughts occupied than plotting ways to escape, anyway.

The Vampire stops pacing.  She glowers.  “Because I need it to survive.  You wouldn’t withhold food from yourself, would you?”

“I don’t take my food from innocent people,”  Pyrrha says.  She turns on her computer.  She doesn’t need to keep her full attention on her captive.  The Vampire isn’t the first quarry Pyrrha has kept locked up here for a time.  Pyrrha’s one of the best Huntresses in the monster-hunting business, after all.

The Vampire sits down cross-legged by the bars of her cage.  “The animals you humans hunt aren’t innocent?”  She cocks her head in what could have been a curious gesture if Pyrrha doesn’t already know it’s a feigned act.  Grizzlier monsters then the Vampire have tried to gain her sympathies before, and (almost) all failed.

“That’s different,”  Pyrrha states offhandedly as she opens her emailing service and begins typing up a report to send in to Headquarters.  The sooner she’s paid and this talkative, little imp sent off to meet her doom, the better.

“How?  They don’t want you to kill them, but you still do!”  The Vampire retorts.  “At least I don’t kill anyone!”

Pyrrha snorts.  “You expect me to believe you’ve never ‘accidentally’ killed anyone while sucking out their blood?”

“No!  Because I don’t do that!”  The Vampire seems insulted.  She jumps up and begins pacing again.  She gesticulates wildly with her arms as she talks.  “I go to hospitals and they give me blood!  The only time I drink from actual people is when they already have poison or a toxin or something in their blood and it’s killing them!  Those don’t affect me like they do you humans, so I can get them out of their systems faster and safer.  That’s how I pay for what the hospitals give me.  I save lives!”

“Uh-huh.”  Pyrrha pulls her headphones on over her ears and puts on some loud music.  A part of her does want to believe the Vampire.  She likes to think the world is full of kindness.  Truly, Pyrrha does.  But she also knows what happens what she lets her guard down for even a second.  She’s not going to make that mistake again.  Not when it could lead to another (too high) body count.

The Collectors, those who come to take the monsters Pyrrha catches away for disposal, are busy with a job up north.  They’ll be down in two days to pay her and take the Vampire off her hands.  The head of the Guild, Salem, as always, thanks Pyrrha for her service.  Pyrrha sends off a quick reply, and then shuts down her computer (it’s too costly to let it run all the time).  She glances back at the Vampire.

Since she no longer has Pyrrha’s attention, the Vampire has taken to entertaining herself.  She’s lying on her back in the center of the cage, holding up two pebbles she must have found on the ground somewhere.  Pyrrha makes a mental note to keep the holding area cleaner in the future.  The Vampire makes the pebbles ‘attack’ each other by slamming them together.  She makes pew, pew noises with her mouth as she does.  It would be a human, if a bit childish, action, if the Vampire weren’t actually a destructive monster.

Pyrrha turns away.  Again, she can’t afford to let her guard down.  She goes to her kitchenette and starts putting a small dinner together.  The noises of Pyrrha’s pots and pans clanging together and the sizzling of heated butter gets the Vampire’s attention.  She rolls over on her stomach, rests her head on her propped up hand, and watches Pyrrha.

“Oooh, what are we having for dinner?”  The Vampire’s tone is a bit happier, a bit more upbeat now than before.

Pyrrha responds, “I’m having stir fry.  You aren’t having anything.”

“But I’m huuungry,” The Vampire whines.  “It doesn’t even have to be blood.  I eat other stuff too.  Like cookies.”  Her expression turns excited.  “Do you have any cookies?”

“You...eat cookies?”  Pyrrha approaches the Vampire.  That’s unexpected.  And probably a lie.

“Yeah my dad used to make them for me all the time.”  The Vampire’s shoulders sag.  “Well, he did.”  She turns away from Pyrrha.  “He’s a really nice human.  That’s why I don’t think you’re entirely bad.  Maybe you’re scared or hurt.  He was too, in the beginning.  But then he got to know me, and he changed his mind.”

Pyrrha crosses her arms.  “Let me guess, he’s dead now?  There was an ‘accident’?”

“No.”  The Vampire shakes her head.  Her short, red-tipped black hair flies around her head.  “I ran away so he wouldn’t.”  She takes a deep breath.  “Everyone was always so scared of me.  I didn’t want them to hurt him too.”

“That’s a nice story.”  Pyrrha returns to prepping her dinner.  She checks her cupboards and finds all the necessities for chocolate-chip cookies.  She has everything she needs.  Pyrrha takes the ingredients out, but makes sure the Vampire can’t see them.  She hasn’t completely made up her mind on that yet.

“What’s it going to take to convince you that I’m not dangerous?”  The Vampire speaks the words as a half-grumble.

Pyrrha goes over to the cage.  She squats down next to where the Vampire is.  “Nothing.  Ever.  Will.” she talks down to her.  “The last time I did that, someone I cared about very much died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”  The Vampire pauses.  “But that still doesn’t give you the right to kill me.”

Pyrrha sighs.  A part of her does agree with the Vampire.  “Look, I’ll make you a batch of cookies.”  She acquiesces to doing that much.  Her eyes sweep over the holding cage.  “And, since you’ll be here for a few days, I’ll get you some pillows and a blanket, but that’s it.  I can’t allow you to go free.  Someone will wind up dead.  I will not allow that to happen.”

“Hmm…well, what if I just stay here with you?”  The Vampire asks.  “You can keep an eye on me.  No one gets hurt either.  And I’ve been looking for a new place to stay.”

“You do understand, I hunt monsters.”

“I know.”  The Vampire grins.  “But, you’re not one of the evil ones.”  She holds out a hand between the bars of the cage.  “My name’s Ruby.”

Pyrrha sighs.  “Pyrrha Nikos.”  The Va—Ruby’s hand is unusually cool to the touch, but still soft like a human hand.

On the one hand, Pyrrha thinks she’s making a mistake.  On the other, it’s only for two days really, and it does feel like a burden that’s been weighing on her has lightened just a little bit.

#rwby #pyrruby #ruby rose #pyrrha nikos #sanguine au #whirls writing #rwby rarepair ficlets 2k19

[fallwritesfiction]

Prompt: 006. blackboard Fandom: RWBY Pairing/Characters: Weiss Schnee, Pyrrha Nikos Rating: General Wordcount: ~1400 Summary: Weiss goes looking for some peace and quiet, and finds Pyrrha, who has a confession to make. Notes/Warnings: Alternate universe: no attack on Beacon, implied Bumbleby

When Weiss Schnee slips into an empty classroom so she can study in peace, she does not expect to find Pyrrha Nikos.

Truthfully, the whole point is that she doesn't expect to find anyone. It's six in the evening, when most of her fellow students have settled into their activities for the night. Even the studious ones - such as herself - are typically sequestered in the library, or their dorm rooms. Weiss would be in the library, if not for Ruby being on her last nerve. She knows the blame lies squarely on Yang and Blake, who spent the day in Vale proper, then came back with a dozen donuts for their youngest member. However, the two of them slipped off shortly after, leaving Weiss to deal with Ruby's sugar rush. Which, no. Weiss would not like to be charged with murder before she even graduates, thank you.

Pyrrha is an attentive student, but she never seems to spend more time studying textbooks than absolutely necessary. Weiss can understand, if reluctantly. Pyrrha's true talents seem to lie in the Hunt itself. She's one of the best combatants in the school, only Yang truly giving her any sort of competition, and Yang Xiao Long doesn't have the drive to get better than Pyrrha, even if she has the raw skill. Weiss wouldn't count Pyrrha's theoretical knowledge as a liability, and that's the best she expects from her fellow students.

(She used to expect better from Blake, but then, well. Yang.)

Beacon students have a habit of surprising her, however, so the truly startling thing isn't Pyrrha's presence, it's what she's doing.

Pyrrha isn't an exceptional artist, but the chalk drawings covering the blackboard at the front of the classroom are all recognizeable. In only a few seconds, Weiss can pick out Pyrrha's team, along with the now-graduated CFVY, Ozpin, a few of the professors, Blake, Yang and Ruby. There are even a few of the underclassmen. But - and she flicks her eyes over the board a few times to be sure - no Weiss. She frowns, then reminds herself that she was never meant to see this in the first place.

Weiss moves to exit the classroom - it was difficult to find an unlocked, empty classroom, but she'll cope; this seems private - but Pyrrha turns to face her before she can.

"Weiss," Pyrrha says, just loud enough to be heard.

"I apologize," Weiss says, shifting her bag on her shoulder. "I didn't know this room was occupied. I'll find another."

Pyrrha shakes her head. "You can stay, if you wish. I'm just about done." She turns back to the blackboard.

Perhaps she should leave anyway, but curiosity drives her to stay. The absence of herself on the blackboard is glaring, a mystery she finds it hard to let go. Was it a purposeful omission, or just something Pyrrha hadn't gotten to yet? She can't think of a reason why Pyrrha would consciously leave her out if she's drawing just about everyone else, but maybe she's given offense and isn't aware of it. It's a weak reason to stay and she knows it, but Weiss has always had difficulty resisting a puzzle.

Pyrrha turns back to the blackboard, picking up a fresh piece of chalk. The portrait of Glynda Goodwitch is half-finished, and Pyrrha continues working on it. Weiss slips into one of the seats near the front, setting her bag down. She should be taking out her books and studying, but she can't take her eyes off of the blackboard.

When the portrait is finished, Pyrrha pauses, chalk still in hand.

"You helped me answer a few questions about myself," Pyrrha says, her back to Weiss.

It's fascinating, listening to her, watching her. This is a side of Pyrrha that Weiss never suspected existed; in every other setting, Pyrrha radiates a quiet confidence, a competency that Weiss has always admired. She knows better than most that public personas and private personas rarely mesh perfectly, but she also never truly gave thought to who Pyrrha might be away from the press of the public eye.

"Did I?" Weiss asks, when she realizes Pyrrha is waiting for an answer.

Pyrrha nods, rolling the chalk in her fingers. "Our first year at Beacon, when you wanted to be teammates... it was the first time I'd gotten that kind of attention from...." She doesn't say 'an equal' because humility is something that goes right down to Pyrrha's bones, but the implication is there. "I enjoyed it."

"Really?" Weiss frowns. "But you're...?"

Pyrrha chuckles. "I'm well-known, yes." She lifts her hand, starting to draw. "Did you know the first tournament I won caused a scandal? I came from nothing, and won out over fighters with long lineages stretching back to the Color Wars, over those with the best tutors money could buy. After the second, it was fairly clear it wasn't a fluke. By the third, it was like the scandal never happened." Whoever Pyrrha draws this time merits a full-body illustration. "But the wealthy never forgot, nor did the career fighters. With you... well. As I've said, I enjoyed the attention." A wry smile curves the corner of Pyrrha's mouth. "Perhaps a bit more than I intended to."

Weiss blinks, her surprise carrying the silence. Pyrrha cannot possibly mean what it sounds like she means.

"You...?" Weiss shakes her head. "But Jaune?"

Pyrrha gives her a look over her shoulder, an eyebrow raised. "Considering your teammates, I wouldn't think you'd be surprised at the concept of bisexuality."

Flushing, Weiss shakes her head. No, she's rather personally acquainted with the concept. It doesn't feel right to say that, though. "No, I was asking after him. Your narrative has... rather less Jaune than I would have expected."

"Jaune is wonderful teammate and leader," Pyrrha says, turning back to her drawing, "but... there's only so long you can be second-best."

Weiss winces. Second-best to her, Pyrrha means.

"It's not your fault," Pyrrha says, as if reading her mind. "It's his. He didn't know you, but kept attempting to court you. I couldn't say if you would have indulged him if he had tried to get to know you, but he never once tried. He wanted a fantasy."

Jaune's attempts to ask her out tapered off long ago, but Weiss has never forgotten them. Pyrrha was right in that Jaune isn't her type even without the ridiculous attempts at asking her on a date, but they might have been friends if he could have contained himself. Weiss has... mixed feelings about the rest of the team - they're both competent, but Nora is far too loud, and Ren far too quiet - but she respects Pyrrha and can grudgingly admit that Jaune has been a good friend to Ruby.

"It's lucky that you came," Pyrrha says, breaking into Weiss' thoughts. "I'm not sure how I would have approached you, otherwise."

Pyrrha turns to face her, hands empty. Weiss' eyes flick to the blackboard, and realize that the last illustration is of her. It's a full-body portrait of her wearing her favorite Hunting uniform, Myrtenaster held in first form. There's more detail to it than the others, and while Pyrrha still doesn't quite rate professional skill, it outstrips the other depictions.

"I don't want to make the same mistake he did," Pyrrha says calmly, drawing Weiss' attention back to her. "Weiss Schnee, would you like to have dinner with me?"

Weiss clears her throat, feeling heat rush to her cheeks. "As-as a date?"

The other girl shakes her head. "No, as friends." Another wry smile. "I think I should at least know if you're open to female companionship before I ask you on a date."

"I am," Weiss says, raising her head, "but dinner as friends sounds... nice."

At the very least, Weiss thinks, Pyrrha is very unlikely to take it personally if Weiss doesn't return her affections.

"Excellent," Pyrrha smiles, walking closer. She rests a hand on the desk in front of Weiss. "Friday, pick you up at five?"

Weiss reaches out to briefly cover Pyrrha's hand with her own. "That would be wonderful."

Pyrrha flashes her another smile, and leaves without another word. Weiss exhales, and leans back in her chair. Her team is never going to believe this.

#rwby #rwby fic #weiss schnee #pyrrha nikos #schneekos #north pole #white gold #this blog has become a whole fuckton of #I don't even go here

[mxxnlitwonders]

about

ameris // ame or ames // 20

she/they // queer // ENFP-T

current concern: she doesn’t know if she wants short hair or long hair. also that she keeps consuming dairy products despite being lactose intolerant.

fav characters:

haikyuu — sugawara koushi, miya osamu, oikawa tooru, kuroo tetsurou, miya atsumu, kita shinsuke, suna rintarou

genshin — diluc, tartaglia, beidou, ningguang, sucrose

bnha — aizawa shouta, takami keigo, kirishima eijiro, todoroki shouto, more I will add later lol

rwby — qrow branwen, pyrrha nikos, blake belladona, robyn hill

demon slayer — giyuu tomioka, mitsuri kanroji, shinobu kocho, kyojuro rengoku, tengen uzui, kanae kocho, tanjiro kamado

marvel — kate bishop, tony stark (platonically), steve rogers, peter parker, clint barton (comics), miles morales, gwen stacy, kamala khan

intro: hey! i’m ameris or ames. I like the creative arts as well and hope to dabble somewhere in that industry too! and creative as in performing or creating or both! i’m also viet-american :3c

i love writing dom!reader :3c but I also a lil bit of both sides since I’m a switch at heart. depending on the day, i am sub or dom leaning lol

for moots!!: feel free to ask for my discord or Genshin uid (North American server)

main/personal: @thestarsintheknight​ 

sfw: @knightofameris​

fic recs: @knightofreaders​ 

#mxxn.about

[geniusgub]

north//chapter seventeen

genre: angst and some fluff

warnings: prison, solitary confinement, stabbing/physical violence

word count: 5k

summary: spencer needs to protect himself and he knows exactly how to do that.

pairing: season twelve spencer reid x oc

SPENCER

I had a million ways of getting out of that situation and yet, I chose the one that would cause the most pain. I chose the option that would come back to cause me the most pain.

It was dumb. Really, it was. I admit that now. I shouldn't have poisoned those drugs. Calvin would know I did it. There's nobody else it could have been. He knew Malcolm, as much as he claimed he didn't, and Calvin knew that Malcolm wouldn’t poison the drugs. Calvin knew it was me and the moment he was released from the infirmary, he outed me. He told everyone he could get his hands on that I'm a fed and that's the worst thing that could happen to me. That beating I got before? I'm about to get much worse than that.

I've been outed as a federal agent and my mom has been abducted by a hitwoman working with Mr. Scratch. I didn't think things could get any worse.

I know what I need to do and it's not ideal. In fact, it's maybe the worst plan possible. It could backfire and maybe it could get me killed. But I need to do what I have to do to survive. And if I get killed in the process of trying to survive, then whatever. At least I won't have to worry about surviving anymore.

I wake up and make my bed like usual, lining up for breakfast. And in my head, I say goodbye to my cell. My plan will keep me from ever seeing this cell ever again. I will ensure I never come back here ever again. Just as the guards shout for us to line up, I slip my hand under my pillow and grab Amelia’s note, tucking it in the pocket of my jeans. 

I don't intend on wasting any of my precious three minutes on actually eating food. I can skip a meal today. I’m on edge as I shuffle through the food line, my head on a swivel and staying alert for any potential attacks. I sit down at a table by myself, thankfully unscathed for this moment. But as soon as I spot Calvin a few feet away, I’m reaching into my pocket, past Amelia's letter, and to my sharpened toothbrush.

I keep my eyes trained on Calvin in front of me, who's chatting to someone else. Staring always gets his attention, and I know the longer I do, the more it will piss him off. So I persist, locking my eyes on his face and hoping to pull his attention away from the inmate next to him. And it works, because within the next few seconds, he's sitting across from me.

"You're gonna need to grow eyes in the back of your head because you'll never see it coming."

I lean in towards Calvin, and for some scary reason, I'm calm. I'm so calm and unfazed with what I'm about to do but I don't give it a second thought. "I have a better idea."

Calvin cracks the tiniest smile as he scoffs. "What's that?"

I rise to my feet at the same time Calvin does and immediately lurch for him. Correctional officers rush over to break us up, but I'm quick to act on my plan. I aim my self-made shank at Calvin and position it perfectly so that when he's blocking it, I twist it and plunge it into my arm and then my leg to make it look like he stabbed me.

I cry out in pain but Calvin tosses his hands up, proclaiming his innocence as a guard drags him away. A guard is at my side too, looking at my bleeding arm while yelling something to another guard. I'm not exactly sure what they're saying but I hear the word "solitary" and I smile devilishly. My plan worked.

///

I've heard stories about solitary confinement throughout my years at the BAU. It's common practice to throw inmates in solitary to see how long it'll take them to crack and give us the information we need. I've seen countless prisons and jails and cells and solitary cells. But being in solitary confinement is completely different than being a federal agent on the outside. I thought it would be silent. I expected my thoughts to echo off the walls. But the only thing echoing is the cries and screams and moans of the other inmates around me. They’re shouting for help, for attention from the guards, for common human decency. It's agonizing. This endless noise is more agonizing than silence.

I lay down on the bench and close my eyes. I figure that since it's relatively dark in here, I might as well try to sleep. Maybe, I think, solitary will miraculously make my nightmares disappear and I'll be able to sleep without reliving someone's death. But every time I close my eyes, I just hear the other inmates crying out for attention from a guard. But the guards don't come. They never do. They never will. I consider shouting to offer my help, but that won't work. I don't have the energy anyway.

You'll never see it coming.

He's right. If he wanted to hurt me, I'd never know. I didn't see it the first time. Calvin has so much power in here. It's scary how much he does. It's scary how many strings he pulls. He could snap his fingers and have the other inmates on their knees in front of him, begging for their lives before he even says anything at all. If he wanted me dead, he could have it done within an hour.

I roll onto my side and cup my hands over my ears, trying to block out the sounds around me. I try to think of something better. I try to remember my favorite Mozart composition, but the notes aren't making sense in my brain and the song sounds horrible. I try to hear Henry and Michael's giggles, or hear Amelia's quick talking, or a story from my mother about my childhood, but nothing works. Nothing can drown out the screams and cries.

I quickly lose track of the time. It's not hard to. There's no window in here and the only way to tell the time is when food shows up. So I eventually get lunch and then dinner, and then I don't get anything else. Not until a vaguely threatening note from Calvin is slipped under the door. I crumple it up and throw it under the bench. I read Amelia’s letter seven times to cleanse myself. 

I'm left to another restless night. I curl up again but the screams are deafening. Why won't someone just help them? These men are in agony. They shouldn't be in solitary confinement, they should be in a hospital or a mental hospital. They shouldn't be locked up and screaming for help to officers who don't give a shit about them.

I keep pulling out Amelia's letter in my pocket but as the day goes by, it gets too dark in here and I can't make out her handwriting. Of course, I've read it once and I can recite it already but I want to see her handwriting. I want to see the tear stains and the pen smudges and the mistakes. I want to have her comfort. But I can't. So I keep it tucked away in my breast pocket, directly against my heart.

I manage to drift off at some point, but it's one of the least satisfying periods of sleep I've ever had. I'm woken up every half hour or so by screaming and screaming and screaming. My head is pounding and my neck is sore from this awkward position and I'm starting to think this is worse than being in general population. Much worse.

It's suddenly morning. There's food being thrown through the slot in the door and an officer clunking along the hallway, ignoring every single inmate he passes. I grab the lame tray of food and let out a yawn, rubbing my eyes and sitting on the bench again. I eat quickly, in just two minutes and twenty seconds, and then balance the tray in the slot so the officer can take it away again.

I just sit there. It's not worth it to work out to try to read Amelia's letter. There's nothing to do but listen to the sounds around me. I can't sleep, I can't leave, I can barely even move around this tiny room. I'll just have to sit around and stare at the black walls until my time in solitary confinement is up and then I'll have to find another way to get myself thrown in here. I have to keep myself protected. If I can't get in protective custody, this is the only place where I'll be safe.

The sound of keys brings me out of my thoughts, and when the door to my cell opens, I scramble to my feet. When I see Wilkins standing there, the panic sets in. Wilkins is practically Calvin's lapdog. He eats out of Calvin's hands. He’s probably scared of the power that Calvin has, even in prison, much less in the outside world.

Wilkins pulls handcuffs off of his belts and slaps them on me, tightening them as tight as they can possibly go, but I don't complain. Now isn't the time for protests or complaints. Once they're on, he gives me a stoic look. "Let's go," he grabs my arm and drags me out, slamming the door behind us.

Outside the room, the first thing I notice is two other guards following us. That's an awful lot for me to be transported somewhere else. Where am I going?

"You're gonna need to grow eyes in the back of your head."

Wilkins leads me away from the block of solitary confinement cells and up a flight of stairs. His grip on my arm doesn't let up. It's far too tight for any normal transport. Where am I going?

"They're gonna beat you again. Might even kill you."

I know, for a fact, that the fastest route to get from solitary to the interview rooms would be to go through the cell blocks as opposed to walking around the blocks. That's how the prison is set up to be. But Wilkins makes it a point to not pass through the blocks. He doesn't want me to see who is in their cells and who isn't. He wants me to be surprised about who is going to kill me.

"You'll never see it coming."

Wilkins shoves me into an interview room, one without any tables or chairs, and one without anyone in it. But just because it's empty right now doesn't mean the door won't open in just a few seconds and flood with the inmates I sent to the infirmary or any of the countless inmates who just happen to hate federal agents.

"I can get you anywhere."

Wilkins grabs the chains of my handcuffs and pulls me towards him, unlocking them. He tucks them back onto his belt, gives me that same stoic look, and then leaves. He shuts the door behind him and leaves me in this empty interview room. I start to panic. What's happening? Why am I here? What has Calvin arranged to happen to me? Surely, he's arranged for me to be taken out of solitary so I can be killed. That must be the only option.

"I own this place."

My body jerks forward as the door opens again. My first instinct is to reach for my hip, to reach for the gun that hasn't been on my hip for months. I expect the hallway to be crowded with inmates. But instead, JJ comes in. I barely even believe my eyes. My heart starts pounding because now I have an inkling of why she's here and why this situation is so odd, but having hope right now is the worst thing to have.

"We're taking you home."

I swear, my knees could've buckled right then and there and I could've burst into tears. JJ pulls me into a hug before any of that can happen, though, and she holds me as tight as she can. It's the first hug I've felt in months and it's euphoric. The affection fills me with a feeling that I can't quite describe as anything other than pure bliss and pure relief.

"Okay, come on, let's get you out of here." JJ says, rubbing my back as she pulls away. "Is there anything in your cell you wanted to grab?"

"No, god no," I shake my head quickly, my lips quivering as I hold back tears. "Just get me out of here, please."

JJ smiles, unraveling her arms from around me and leading me out of the room. She helps me through the paperwork that needs to be done and then she gives me a box with my name on it, containing the suit I wore in court. It's not my ideal outfit to be wearing right now, but it's better than the mandatory outfit I've been wearing the last three months.

"I'll be right here when you're done," JJ smiles, gesturing to the little area where I'm supposed to change.

It feels nice to finally have something other than this scratchy and smelly blue material, and the suit I have is heavy and is a bit big now. I hadn't realized I'd lost so much weight. But I knot my tie and return my blues to a waiting officer, and then give an expecting smile to JJ.

"There he is!" I turn at the sound of Luke's voice, turning just in time for him to hug me too. "It's good to have you back, brother."

"Thanks," I mumble into his shoulder with a heavy sigh. "Where'd you just come from?"

"Oh, I was just talking to Shaw," Luke smirks, shrugging his shoulders. "He'll enjoy his time in Michigan at FCI Milan. The Bratva will be happy to see him."

I should feel guilty about that, but I don't.

"Let's get going, there's some people who are very excited to see you," JJ puts her hand on my back and guides me along, out some more gates and into the blaring daylight. It's a painful contrast to the solitary cell I was in just a half hour ago. The sunlight burns my eyes but it's a welcomed feeling now.

I grin when I see Penelope approaching and I quickly sweep her into my arms. She hugs my waist tighter than I've ever felt her do so before, and I reciprocate around her shoulders. "It's so good to see you. I missed you," I tell her, and she's becomes the first person I hear let out a genuine laugh in over three months. Maybe four months. Maybe five months.

"I missed you too, Spencer," she beams, and pulls away, squeezing my hands.

My stomach tightens with excitement and my eyes tear up for the first time when I let go of Garcia's hands. I instinctively reach for my pants pocket and feel for the letter, just for reassurance. My eyes scan for the beautiful blonde that I've been craving to see more than anyone, but I come up empty. My chest deflates and I takes a step back, bumping right into Luke, who grabs my shoulder. "She didn't come?" I whisper, my voice cracking and shaking, tears beginning to stream down my cheeks.

I love my friends so much, but I’ve seen them all at least five times since my arrest. I haven’t seen Amelia since I was transferred from Mexico and put in jail. I didn’t see her at my arraignment and I didn’t put her on my list of approved visitors. I wanted to see her beautiful eyes and feel her touch and see her smile and hear her voice telling me that she loves me. 

I glance between my three friends, lips quivering. “I know I told her not to visit but I thought this was different because--"

"She's here." JJ interrupts, putting her hand on my other shoulder. "Spencer, she is here. We picked her up but she got here and she was intimidated by the building so she didn't wanna come in. She's outside by the cars. She wouldn't abandon you like that."

She's here. She really did wait for me. Well, I never had doubts that she would wait for me. But after all the times she watched my team come to visit me and after I told her not to see me when she had chances to, she still came to my release date. She still stayed by my side. Metaphorically, of course. 

I nod, and in my bleary, love-struck daze, Penelope grabs my hand and drags me away from the prison. She drags me right out of the gates. It's bizarre to me, it always has been, that there are only a few fences that separate the inmates from the free world. It's just some welded chainlink. That is it. 

"We went to Amelia's apartment," Garcia explains as we walk closer to the parking lot, "and she wanted to take her own car. So I drove her car with her and JJ and Luke went in the SUV."

Garcia lets go of my hand when Amelia finally comes into my view. And seeing her, standing here as the sun rises, it's like I'm meeting her for the first time. I'm meeting her all over again.

She's just as beautiful as I remember her to be. I didn't expect her beauty to falter, though. She'll still be the most remarkably beautiful angel on the face of the earth to me. And in the rising sun, she looks perfect. I wish I had her camera so I could take a picture of this moment, of her beauty. 

Her blonde hair is curly and a bit unruly, probably because she was woken up by the team far too early in the morning to get here. She's wearing the oversized sweats she usually wears on lazy Sundays and especially on rainy days. Her glasses are resting on the bridge of her nose and she's fiddling with something in her fingers. I notice that there's a new tattoo on her hand, but from here, I can't see what it is. All of her piercings are missing and she just looks raw and unfiltered and just plain perfect.

She looks perfect and gorgeous and beautiful and I want to fall to my knees and beg for her forgiveness for all the heartache that I've caused her because of this. Forget everything I've been through. I want to tell her how much I love her and apologize until the word sorry sounds wrong and swear that I will spend the rest of my life making this up to her. But I'm frozen in my spot, just admiring her and wishing I could touch her. After so long, it doesn't seem real. Part of me thinks that a guard is about to run out and tell us there's been a mistake and they're going to drag me back inside. Part of me thinks that my mind is playing a trick on me and that my girlfriend isn't standing just a few feet away from me.

Her chest heaves and it's then I notice that she's crying. She reaches her hand up to move her glasses and wipe her tears away, and that's when I notice something else. She's not even looking at me. She's looking up. She's staring up at the sky. Her gaze hasn't deviated and I'm not even sure if she's noticed my presence yet. If she has, she's done a good job of hiding it. I follow her gaze to the sky, and when I see what's so interesting up there, it brings the tiniest smile to my face.

I breathe in a new batch of fresh air and a step closer to her. I move until I'm an arms-length away, and when I'm close enough to touch, her breath hitches. I don’t reach out to touch her though, because I don’t think either of us is ready for that. As badly as I need her touch, I need her to be fully present. I’m not even fully present yet. My mind is still lingering inside those gates I just passed. 

When I step closer, her hands stop moving, but she doesn’t make another effort to start. She doesn’t move at all. She doesn't look at me and she doesn't hug me and she doesn't kiss me. And for some reason, it doesn't hurt that she doesn't immediately jump on me. Maybe it's because I'm still wondering if this is reality. Maybe she's wondering the same.

I glance up at the sky before settling on her eyes that have always enchanted me. "I'm sorry," I say softly. I watch her lips start to shake, but she stands her ground, nose scrunching up in the cutest way. "I tried to see dinosaurs and cars and lamps like you told me about, but I couldn't. I need you to teach me how to see shapes in the clouds because I can't do it without you, baby." I pause after I speak, waiting for a reaction. 

I’m not sure what reaction I was expecting, honestly. But she looks at me. She averts her gaze from the sky and locks her bloodshot eyes with mine, and it’s such a captivating sight that I never want to look away. I huff out the air in my lungs and I reach for her, but I don’t grab onto anything, because I retreat my hands before I touch her. Who am I kidding? I don’t even deserve to touch her anymore. These hands have committed so many sins inside those walls. I shouldn’t be allowed to touch someone as pure and innocent as Amelia. But she just stares at me, waiting, gazing into my eyes as her body starts to tremble.

“I-“ I stumble over my words, just like the first time I ever talked to her. I clench my hands into fists and I start to break. In the presence of the woman I love, in the presence of the woman who knows all my secrets, in the presence of the woman who has never failed to remind me that she will love me unconditionally, I allow myself, for the first time in months, to be vulnerable. “Lia, I need you.” 

Amelia finally breaks with my words. She lets out a sob as she nods, throwing her arms around my shoulders. She throws herself against me, and out of the three people I hugged previously, they don't hold a flame to this hug. Amelia's body is shaking and trembling against mine as I hold her with a death grip, my hands grasping her clothes. Her hands have a hold on my suit jacket, and while I wish her hands could be on my skin, being as close to me as possible, I know that won’t happen for a while, I’m being greedy. I’m just happy to be holding her after so long. 

"I love you," she cries into my shoulder, and I think my heart bursts at the confession. I’ve waited so long to hear her say those words. I’ve laid awake at night, trying to recall the way it sounds when she says those beloved words, and I could never come up with an accurate memory. I squeeze her tighter, hiccuping into her shoulder as I cry. "I love you so fucking much. If you ever leave me like that again, I'll-"

"I won't." I don't even let her finish her sentence, I just nod into her shoulder. She hums softly in response, and when I hear her take a deep breath and then release, her warm breath brings a type of goosebumps to my skin that haven’t appeared since we last laid in bed together. I squeeze my eyes shut and force a few tears to fall onto her shirt. "I'm never leaving you ever again. We're moving in together and we're getting married and having a family and I'm gonna make you hate me with how annoying my statistics are and you're gonna love it."

Amelia laughs, and I swear, the sound is more beautiful than any of those Mozart or Brahms pieces I tried to remember while in solitary. Amelia’s laugh is one in a million. I should have never taken such a remarkable sound for granted. "That sounds perfect, dove," 

She lifts her head and her ocean eyes connect with mine again. She places her hands on my cheeks, thumbs brushing over my skin. She leans in close, her nose brushing against mine delicately. My eyelids flutter closed at the intimacy, and I forget that we have an audience. I forget that we're in public and in front of the place that has been my living hell for three months. But Amelia's laugh makes me forget. Amelia makes me forget everything happening for a split second, and that’s all I need.

“You promised.”

“I did,” I whisper, brushing our noses together and holding back tears. “And I still haven’t broken a promise, right? I never will.” She suddenly giggles and the melodic, beautiful, familiar sound brings one of the first genuine smiles to my face. “What?”

She trails her hands down my cheeks and to my jawline. "I was right."

My eyes open again, and my brows furrow. "You were right?"

She smiles mischievously at me, and when her pointer finger presses into my upper lip, I understand. "Your facial hair is sexy." I toss my head back laughing, truly laughing for the first time in months. 

Only this remarkable woman could make me laugh at a time like this. Only she could make me laugh after everything I've just been through. She presses her body flush against mine, and while just an hour ago, a body against mine would have made me panic, our connection makes me relax. 

Amelia looks up at me as a tear drips down her cheek, and she smiles. Just a moment ago, she was teasing. She was happy and she was carefree, glad to see me. But now she’s tentative. "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes," I answer far too quickly, nodding eagerly "yes please."

With her hands now on my cheeks, she brings my lips down to hers. And whether she was intending for it to be a simple peck or not, it doesn't matter. Her lips are soft and smooth and warm and taste like strawberries and I wish I could kiss her forever. I never want this kiss to end. I want to lay in bed with her and whisper sweet nothings until the sun rises and we realize we haven’t slept yet. I want to kiss her until our lips are swollen and then go back for more. I want to make love to her like we never have before, bodies sweaty and pressed against each other under a duvet. I want to have her lay on my chest and count the freckles on my stomach until she loses track and has to start over again. I don’t want those moments to cease ever again. 

I hold her waist in my hands as tight as I can, not wanting her to run away or leave me. It's cruel of me to think that she could change on me at the drop of a hat, but I guess that's what prison has done to me. Prison has made me untrusting. Prison has changed me, as much as I don’t want to admit it. But Amelia has never given me a reason to think that she would leave me because of this. She spent months following me through a false arrest and I still think she would leave me? How awful.

I pull away, breathless, eyes half-lidded. "I love you," I confess quickly. “I love you so much. Thank you so much for being here. I wanted to see you so bad- I needed to see you.” 

“It didn’t seem real,” she admits, dragging her hands down my chest, straightening my tie. “I didn’t wanna get my hopes up. Penelope drove and I just- I’d gotten so used to getting bad news that I didn’t wanna be so heartbroken if it didn’t happen.” She brings her hands further down, and then she notices the letter in my inside jacket pocket. But Amelia doesn’t take it out, she just acknowledges its presence and smiles. She fixes my jacket and then flattens it out, resting her forehead against my chest, wrapping her arms around my waist, once again bringing her body flush against mine. 

I sigh contently, resting my chin on the top of her head. "Did you read my letter?"

Amelia nods, laughing, her chest rumbling against mine. "I did and I cried. Dave gave it to me and I cried and I hugged him and I hugged Penelope and it was the happiest I’d been the entire time you were, um,” she narrows her eyes, figuring out her choice of words, “well, gone. So, thank you for doing that.” 

“Thank Rossi. He’s the one who smuggled in the pen and flashed his badge to get the letter in.” I bring my gaze down to her, and she lifts her head. I move my hands up and down her arms, sighing. I let myself be vulnerable again. She’s the only one I’d only allow myself to confess such things to, and after months of holding my thoughts in, I’m scared to let them out, but I know I’ll need to eventually. "I didn't lie. I thought about you every single day and you're the only reason I'm standing here right now.”

"Spencer." She speaks my name for the first time and it sounds like music to my ears. Amelia drops her hands from my waist and intertwines our fingers, squeezing gently. "You're home now and you're not going anywhere again, okay?" I nod to her as if confirming her words. "Alright. Let's go find your mom."

TAGLIST

@babybloodstonebones @bxnnywriting @blameitonthenight21 @feralreid @anepiphany @reidscardigan @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @4x24 @whollytaciturn @thegingerfairchild @yasminwashere @shrimpyblog @anamelessfacelessnerd @wonderlandhatter @whxt-to-write @inkandexchange @just-call-me-non​ 

#nikos north fic #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #dr reid #criminal minds #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction

[geniusgub]

north//chapter sixteen

genre: angst

warnings: prison, stabbing, solitary confinement, mention of deaths

word count: 3.2k

summary: spencer is spiraling. amelia is too. being apart is weighing on them and hope has run out.

pairing: season 12 spencer reid x oc

like, comment, and reblog :) enjoy!!

SPENCER

Guilt is a feeling I'm far too familiar with. Guilt is something I can't escape and guilt is something that has run my life. Guilt always seems to follow me wherever I go like a black cloud floating over my head.

I always thought that strong panic could easily outweigh guilt, but clearly, I've learned my lesson. As I hear the coughs and cries and screams of agony from the other prisoners on my cell block, the panic settles in my body.

Rossi told me I was a good person. He swore I wouldn't be changed by these people and this place and he was wrong. He was so utterly and horribly wrong and I know if he ever finds out about this, he would be so disappointed in me.

And Amelia. My beautiful, sweet, innocent girl. What if she found out about this? What if she finds out that I purposely poisoned a batch of drugs? What would she think? Would she hate me? Would she leave me? I'm barely surviving prison but I wouldn't survive her leaving me. I could never survive life without her.

But I'm doing what I can survive. But I had a million ways out of this situation. I had a million ways to get myself out of moving those drugs and instead any of those other simpler, cleaner, easier ways, I chose to poison them. I chose the way that would cause pain and suffering for those who have wronged me, and I unintentionally chose pain and suffering for the one person who has helped me out in here. And now that Shaw is gone and off to the infirmary, what's going to happen to me? Now that my protection is gone, am I at risk again?

But then the panic starts to dissipate. The panic dissipates and all I feel this guilt. Overwhelming, suffocating guilt. I feel horrible. I feel like the worst person to walk planet earth. I am the worst person to walk the planet. I watch all these men get rushed onto gurneys and run down hallways on the arms of correctional officers and it makes my heart sink.

I'm officially one of them. I didn't even want to move the drugs. I was so adamant about not allowing this contraband to be distributed to the inmates and I did everything I could to not have to move them, but I got pushed against the wall and held down, literally and figuratively. I had no choice.

And just when I don't need it, Tara shows up. She shows up, waving her doctorate degree in the air, telling me that we need to do another cognitive. Another cognitive. Another cognitive. She needs to dive into my mangled brain yet again to figure out what happened in Mexico just twenty-four hours after I poisoned half of my cell block. Another cognitive could help with Stephen's new way of finding Scratch. What is that new way? She didn't even say. I don't even want to know.

But it's something to do. It's something to distract from the guilt that's eating me alive. It's something to distract me from the things I think when I'm in my cell. It's something to distract me from the images of Malcolm shaking on the floor or Delgado bleeding out. It's something.

But even though it's something, the pain is there. The pain of Mexico resurfaces and hits me tenfold. The pain beats me against my chest and bolts me to my chair, stinging the scar on my hand. This isn't what I need. I didn't need to be reminded of my trauma as more trauma is unfolding before my eyes.

"You're helping Nadie and she's responding," Tara coaches me through the cognitive.

I rack my brain for answers and images and sounds and smells but it just comes up blank. "There's nothing I can do."

"And what about him? I mean, you must feel him in your peripheral vision, behind you somewhere."

"Yeah, he's behind me." It's almost like I can feel him standing behind me now, watching me to make sure I don't reveal his hidden identity to Tara. Why can't I just put Scratch's face there and this can all be over? I can use say it was him and I can collect my get-out-of-jail free card. "I can feel him watching me, and I'm--"

My eyelids fly open, desperate to erase an image that has materialized in my head. It's horrifying and bloody and there's no way it can be true. But it must be true if I'm seeing it. It's true. That's it. This is the big answer everyone has been waiting for and it's the answer nobody believed could be possible.

"What is it?" Tara's voice seems so far away and so distant.

"It was me. I killed her."

Tara's face softens and I don't know how she could possibly look at me like that. "Spencer," I rise from my chair and go rushing to the door, banging on it to alert a guard that this is over and I'm ready to return to my cell, "Spencer, that's not possible. Reid!"

I don't sleep a wink. I don't even lay in bed. I don't want to face the nightmares of me stabbing an innocent woman who just wanted to help my mother. An innocent woman who had a family and a husband or wife and children and a whole life to live. Selfishly, I don't want to see that. And maybe I deserve to. Maybe that should be my punishment for killing her, as if prison isn't punishment enough.

I sit on the floor. I work out until my muscles can't hold my weight. I stare at the wall. I gaze out the window. I do everything I can to stay awake and I'm successful. I contemplate celebrating when I see the sun starting to rise and I jump up to make my bed in the perfect way the correctional officers want it. If it's not perfect, I get in trouble. More trouble than I've already gotten in. I’ll get embarassed, humiliated, degraded, exposed. I don’t need that. I make the bed once, and then twice, and fix it a third time. 

And then Tara waves around her doctorate again. She swears she needs more time with her “patient” and I'm dragged away after breakfast. I'm put in cuffs that dig into the bruises and cuts around my wrists and cuffs that make me bleed and cuffs that I still feel on my skin even after they been taken off.

I cant see the images anymore. I can't do it. I can't continue to be haunted by what happened in Mexico and I can't keep seeing Nadie's face in my head, whether I'm sleeping or not. I don't want to do another cognitive and see, yet again, that I'm a killer. I don't need it to be confirmed to me time and time again that I'm a murderer and that I deserve to be in prison until the day I die.

"I cannot keep doing this anymore, okay? I told you, it was better if you all just stayed away. You're making it worse." It's a beg. It's a plead for Tara to leave and not come back.

But Tara insists. She insists that my mind is just playing tricks on me. She wonders why I don't realize that. She wants to know why I'm not thinking things out. The cognitive yesterday gave her an answer she would rather not have. She confirmed yesterday that I'm a murderer and now she's back to see if she can force my brain to play a trick.

"Spencer Reid is incapable of killing an innocent woman in cold blood."

I lean close to Tara, but not too close. I'm not telling a secret. It doesn't need to be whispered. "You have no idea what I'm capable of."

"Look," Tara sighs, "prison is a difficult place. You've probably had to do things in here to survive that you would never think of doing in the outside world, things that make you feel guilty. But the brain has to handle that guilt, has to process it. And sometimes it spreads that guilt around into places it doesn't belong."

Guilt always seems to follow me wherever I go like a black cloud floating over my head. No matter where I go, the guilt is there. The guilt of killing an innocent woman, the guilt of abandoning my mother with basically a stranger, the guilt of leaving my girlfriend behind, the guilt of poisoning other prisoners. It's all there, all the time.

I stare down at my hands, raw and bruised and calloused and rough. "I could see the knife in my hand."

"We know that Scratch uses drugs to change our perception of what's real and what's not," Tara tells me. "He could dose you and tell you that you, I don't know, your favorite color is black and you'd believe it wholeheartedly. He could dose you and make you believe anything he wants and you’d never remember. That's what he does. That's what his drugs do."

She convinces me. I don't know how she managed to do it so easily, but she did. She convinces me to go through with the cognitive and in no time, my eyes are shut and I land back in that dingy, dark motel room with Nadie beside me.

I tell her what seems obvious to me. Someone bursts in the room, I move the knife to get closer to a stabbed Nadie and that's how I cut my hand, there's a mist over my shoulder, I turn to look at who it is but I can't see who it is.

"Do you recognize him?"

"No," I shake my head, scrunching up my face in frustration. He's blurry, but he's spraying me and it's getting more blurry.

"Focus, Spencer. Concentrate on who it is."

I clench my hand, pain shooting up my arms when the cuffs dig into my skin. I squeeze my eyes tighter and focus in on the image, and it actually gets clearer. I can see better. "It's Scratch," I whisper. "It's Scratch. It's Scratch. It's him. And he's drugging me. And I hear him say something."

I can see Scratch's distorted hand swirling around as she sprays me in the face, dousing me with her disgusting drugs. "What does he say?" Tara prompts.

It's time. It's time to go.

I see her holding out a pair of car keys to me, nails painted perfectly black, as she speaks in a sickly sweet voice. My eyes pop open. "Time to go," I repeat, "she says, time to go and then she just walks right out of there like she didn't have a care in the world, like she wanted me to chase her!"

It wasn't Scratch. It was a woman and I'll be here forever. If it was just some woman, there's no way to get me out of here. I'll die in this prison.

"It wasn't Scratch who framed me. It was a woman."

///

AMELIA

///

I'm not sure why I keep going back to the BAU. Nothing good ever seems to happen there, not since Spencer got arrested. The only happy memory I have is getting the smuggled letter from Spencer, but that isn't enough to cancel out the tears and the panic attacks and the pain that I've gone through on the sixth floor of this building.

So I'm not sure why I gravitate back here. It's probably because of Penelope. It's probably because I like to stare at the knick-knacks on her desk or stare at my own artwork on her walls and wonder if I could produce anything even close to that. Penelope herself is a reason to spend almost every day in a federal building filled with guns and pictures of dead bodies. She's one of the few reasons I'm afloat right now. After I throw an appreciation party for Jenna, I'll need to throw one for Penelope.

When I step out of the elevator, the first person I see is Emily. She's hurrying past the elevator, but when she sees me, she halts. And with the smile she gives me, I know something is wrong. For a moment, I debate not even getting out of the elevator so I don't have to face whatever new bad news I'm about to hear, but I know that I'll have to hear it eventually.

I step out, staring down at my tennis shoe-clad feet. "What now? Spencer's trial already got pushed back."

Emily clutches the case files in her hand and waves me along. "Come on, I'll update you."

The walk through the bullpen seems to take a million times longer than it usually does. But Emily finally leads me to the round table room and the first thing I notice is the face of a brunette on the screen. Penelope smiles when I enter, giving me the weakest wave I've ever seen from her.

"Who's that?" I ask, gesturing to the screen.

"That's Lindsay Vaughn." Emily explains, sitting down at the table, gesturing for me to do the same. It's the first time I've ever sat here and I almost feel unworthy. And I can tell I’m taking Spencer’s usual seat. That just feels wrong. I shift unconmfortably, wondering if it would be better for me to stand or move to a different seat. "A long time ago, Spencer had an interaction with Lindsay and her father on a case. Her father was a hitman so at the end of the case, the two of them were put into Witness Protection. Well, apparently, Lindsay left and she teamed up with Scratch."

"So this Lindsay girl is the one who drugged Spencer in Mexico and killed Nadie?" Emily nods. "So does that mean he's coming home?" It's too sweet of a thought. It's too easy. Of course he's not coming home. It's too easy.

"No," Emily shakes her head now, and my chest deflates. I should have expected that. "He identified her voice but there's no evidence. The team is out searching for that now."

"Her voice? How did he do that?" I glance frantically between the two women and watch as they look between each other.

"Okay," Emily leans close to me, and places her hand atop mine, "I have to tell you two really hard things right now. Just take a breath and I know it's hard to stay calm but you need to try," my teeth dig into my cheeks as I nod, but I don't promise. I don't make promises I know I'll break. I don't make promises unless they're to Spencer. "This girl, Lindsay, she killed Cassie and abducted Diana."

My eyes widen and I rip my hand away from Emily's grasp. "She took Diana?"

"She did," Emily reaches for my hand again, but I don't let her touch me. She sighs but continues talking. "She was stalking Reid for a while. She had pictures of him on a few cases, she even rented an apartment right next to his."

"Oh my god," I breathe out, leaning my elbows against the table and putting my head in my hands. "I can't believe it. He's in prison! What the fuck does Scratch and this bitch want with Diana?"

"We don't know," Penelope finally speaks up, "but we're doing everything we can to help Diana and to find her."

I stare down at the wood on the table and take a long breath through my nose, filling my lungs with stale air that leaves a bad taste in my mouth. "You said there were two things. What's the second thing?" I look up now, and I make the mistake of looking at Penelope first. Her eyes immediately fill with tears. It's about Spencer. Well, this is all about Spencer, but this news is Spencer.

Emily gulps and this time, she doesn't try to reach out for me again. "This morning, Reid stabbed himself in order to get thrown into solitary confinement."

I almost don't have a reaction to this at all. My eyebrows just raise in the tiniest bit because I don't believe it. Spencer stabbed himself? My Spencer? My Spencer who wouldn't even kill the spider in my bathtub. He had to catch it in his hands and release it onto the balcony. Someone who won't kill a spider wouldn't stab themself. Why did he stab himself? Why?

"You're not serious," that's the only feasible response I can think to come up with. "That's not--"

"It is, and it's a good thing, I promise." Emily tries to give me a smile but it only enrages me.

Penelope's eyes widen. "Emily, don't pro-"

"No!" I lose my cool, and as my voice raises, tears streaming down my cheeks. I jump out of my chair, knocking it over, but I don't even care. "Solitary confinement is not a good thing! Solitary confinement is where people go crazy and start seeing things! So don't tell me that Spencer stabbing himself is a fucking good thing because it's not! I'm tired of everyone promising me things that fall through! That's not what promises are for! Spencer could go crazy in solitary confinement and that's horrible!"

I turn on my heel and run for the door, pushing past JJ and Stephen, who don't even bother to try and stop me. Surely, they heard me yelling. But I hear heels behind me and I know Penelope has followed me and she's the only person I'd be willing to talk to right now.

She follows me all the way to her lair, and she even opens the door for me, allowing me to enter first. "She didn't know about the whole promising thing, Amelia, I'll tell the team," Penelope says quickly, pulling me into a tight hug when the door closes. "I'm so sorry. I wish I could help with more than just a hug, but this is all I can do."

"I wanna help him," I cry, squeezing her waist. "I don't want him there anymore and I wanna bring him home and hold him and--"

"And we're gonna get him out. We've been working with all the energy we have to get him out and find every scrap of evidence there is to exonerate him. I know you don't agree with Emily, but Reid is safe in solitary. He won't be around the other inmates. He won't be around the people who beat him up, and that's a good thing."

"That might be the only good thing about that. And poor Diana. She must be so scared, and so confused, and so lost. I don't know how she's functioning right now."

"We're gonna find her," Penelope pulls away, rubbing up and down my arms. "We're gonna find Diana, exonerate Spencer, and put Lindsay and Scratch in prison."

I smile through my tears, wiping my cheeks. "I think I'm gonna call Jenna and go home. I don't wanna interrupt you guys but the last thing I want is to be alone."

"That's a good idea. I'll keep you updated if anything happens." Penelope starts to lead me towards the door, holding it open for me.

"Don't." I shake my head, walking to the elevators. "I don't want updates. I just-- just do your jobs. That's all I need. I'll see you soon, Penny. I love you."

TAGLIST

@babybloodstonebones @bxnnywriting @blameitonthenight21​ @feralreid​ @anepiphany​ @reidscardigan​ @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto​ @stxrrywildflower​ @penemily​ @whollytaciturn​ @thegingerfairchild​ @yasminwashere​ @shrimpyblog​ @anamelessfacelessnerd​ @wonderlandhatter​ @whxt-to-write​ @inkandexchange​ @just-call-me-non​ 

#nikos north fic #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #dr reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fic #matthew gray gubler

[geniusgub]

north//chapter fifteen

genre: angst

warnings: prison, mentions of solitary confinement, mentions of physical abuse, spoilers for The Good Doctor, spoilers for Lucifer, alcohol, drugging

word count: 7.1k

summary: spencer gets used to life in prison in the worst ways. amelia goes through a rollercoaster of emotions and tries to cope with spencer being out of reach. she tries to stay positive and convince others that she is okay.

i’d like to say once again that having a good understanding of the prison arc is helpful in reading this fic. i don’t explain every single detail (because it’s unnecessary to) and if you’re not familiar w the storyline, it’ll be harder to comprehend.

school is over so i’ll have more time to edit and post!!!! yay!! enjoy the chapter :)

SPENCER

"Is that clear?"

"Yes, yes, it's clear!"

My heart pounds against my chest and that's all I can feel. Absolute fear and absolute helplessness. I can't do anything here. I've accepted that but maybe I've just been lying to myself. How can I ever accept that I can't do anything to protect myself or protect others? I’ve spent my life protecting. I need to protect. I need to. 

The fear and the panic are overwhelming and I'm thrashing around. I can't do anything to stop it. I wish it would stop. The panic is overwhelming. It's consuming. It's eating me alive. It’s too uch. It’s way too much. I need to go and protect. I need to protect.

"Help! Help!"

I jerk awake, drenched in sweat and my hair matted to my forehead. The images of my dead friend are still flashing in my head and as badly as I want to forget, I know I never will. My back and bottom ache from the metal cot I’m on, my limbs stiff in the smaller-than-twin, poor excuse of a mattress.

I twist my body and reach under my pillow, pulling out the journal that my counselor had given me and the pencil, scribbling down my stream of consciousness as quickly as I possibly can. It's barely readable in my chicken scratch writing but who cares enough to read what I have to say anyway? No one. Nobody cares here. Nobody cares about me. I’m nothing.

Getting more and more intense. Got to fall deeper in to beat them. I've lost friends before, but not like this. Not in a box where I have no control. Or do I? Starting to think like them, starting to survive like them. I'm here because I made a choice. What if that means I don't get out alive?

My blood runs cold as I dot the question mark with my trembling hand. I swipe my hand across my dripping forehead and grimace at how wet my hand comes back. I throw my journal onto the floor and lay back down, forcing my eyelids closed.

How could I expect myself to sleep? I'm foolish to think I will. But I keep up the illusion for a while and keep my eyes closed, hoping that sleep will draw me in, but it never does. I just keep replaying the events that plague me every night, and eventually, my eyelids snap open again. The gory images were too much. Then the beautiful, blonde-haired, blue-eyed images became too painful. I scrunch up my eyebrows when I feel a headache forming between them.

My eyes immediately land on the journal, and red hot flames replace my brown orbs. That journal is horrible. It's filled with depressing content and it's falling apart and it's a disgusting brown color. It doesn't have my name in beautiful calligraphy on the front, and perfect drawings of beakers and coffee cups and strawberries and books and records players and decks of cards, and my confessions of love for my girlfriend inside. It doesn't have any of that beauty on the inside. No, this journal contains my deteriorating mind and my disappearing conscience.

Barely having control of my tired muscles, I roll off the bed and land on my hands and knees, holding in my grunts of agony. The cell block is almost silent, aside from the fans blowing around stale, warm air, and I don't intend to piss off anyone by disrupting their sleep. I keep my mouth shut after the initial impact sound. 

I make the bed. I fold the corner of the sheets, so they are absolutely perfect. I fold the blanket and tuck it under the mattress. I smooth my hands over the top of the bed to make it perfect. It has to be perfect. If the bed isn’t perfect, it will get torn apart by the officers. They will rip up my bed and take away my blanket and pillow and humiliate me in front of the whole cell block. I don’t need that to happen again. I experienced that on my first week here and I vowed to never let it happen again. I make the bed and then I make it again, then fix it, then arrange it perfectly one more time. Finally. Perfection. It has to be perfect.

I push my journal against the wall and lay on my back, setting my feet flat against the floor and tucking my hands behind my head. I keep count in my mind as I lift my chin to my knees, ignoring the burn in my abs and the sharp pain in my spine from the concrete I'm rolling my bones against.

Once I've reached my goal number, twenty higher than yesterday’s number, I roll over onto my hands and lift myself up, and start my press ups. I begin a new, higher count in my head as I continuously bring my nose to the concrete, and with each time my biceps flex, the anger flares up. I clench my jaw and my stomach bubbles and my head gets light.

Fuck prison. Fuck it. Fuck the fact that I have to be here. Fuck Frazier and fuck his gang and fuck his shank and fuck the fact that he killed Luis. Fuck this whole situation. This is madness.

I'm becoming them. I am them. I either become them or I die, and I refuse to die in here. I refuse to die without curing Alzheimer's and getting married and having children and spending my life hunting the very people I'm locked in here with. I refuse to die knowing that there's a whole life I could live if I keep fighting. I refuse to break law after law in here like my life doesn't matter in the free world. I refuse to lose the person that I was, even if he's slipping further and further away by the second. Even if every time I try to recall the person I was, the images of my own face get more and more blurry. They’re hard to make out.

And maybe he's already gone and I've already sucked in the traits of the felons around me. Maybe I just refuse to accept who I am now. That's more likely than the lies I feed myself.

I work my muscles until the sun peeks in through the tiny window across from my cell. I'm drenched in sweat, even more than before, and my muscles are aching, but it's easy to forget. And if I can't forget, then it's easy to revel and bask in the intense pain.

The correctional officers bring us to the chow hall and we all collect our disgusting food and eat as quickly as possible. We usually only have three minutes for meals. Three minutes. That's it. It was horrible at first. I had to sit at a table, alone, with my shoulders hunched, shoveling food into my mouth. If you don’t eat at chow, you don’t eat at all. I always used to go back to my cell and curl up in my bed, thinking I was going to throw up. The combination of moldy, rotten food and a three-minute time crunch to eat has horrifying results. But now, three minutes is child's play. Three minutes is eating leisurely. I could eat my entire meal in exactly two minutes and twenty-seven seconds. Three minutes, now, is generous.

After breakfast is visitation and, to no one’s surprise, my name is called. I wonder who's on Garcia's list for today. They haven't managed to stick to a set schedule yet, due to cases and traveling, so I have no way of predicting who I'll see. I’m always left to wander into the visitation room and come up with lies on the spot. 

I stick my hands out and allow Wilkins to slap cuffs on me, but I never meet his eyes. I wouldn't dare to. No amount of crunches or push-ups will ever prepare me to take him. I keep my eyes down and, shamefully, let him push me towards the visitation room.

I scan the little tables for a familiar face and smile the tiniest bit when I see Rossi sitting and waiting for me. He hasn't come to visit me yet, and out of the two people I don't want to visit me at all-- my girlfriend and my mom-- I've been waiting to see him. I resist the urge to push the person in front of me to get as much time with Rossi as possible. I wouldn’t dare risk pushing someone. I don't need a fight to send me to solitary confinement. Huh. Actually, solitary confinement doesn't seem too bad right now. I could get away from all these other inmates who want to hurt me. I could relax in solitary.

I sit down and just give Rossi an expecting look, utterly speechless. I've had so many questions to ask him. I've needed so much advice, but now I have nothing to say. My voice is stuck in my throat. His facial hair is longer. The bags under his eyes are a shade darker. Luckily, he speaks first. "You haven't slept." Okay, not what I wanted or needed him to say.

I just shrug nonchalantly. "It's been a while." What else can I say?

Rossi just nods. What else can he do? "I heard about your friend, Delgado. I'm really sorry, Spence," Again, not what I wanted or needed him to say. I don't want to hear or talk about Luis anymore. I'm tired of dwelling on that. I feel guilty enough. I don't need to see his slit throat every time I close my eyes and then open my eyes and talk about him. I don't need that. When I'm unresponsive to this, Rossi continues. "Is there anyone you can talk to?"

I roll my eyes to the back of my head. If my mother were here, she would warn me that if I do that long enough, my eyes would get stuck there. "We have group therapy once a week. The counselor wants me to keep a journal. So I am, but I don't really think it's helping."

Rossi's furrows his eyebrows. "How come?"

A scoff escapes my lips before I can stop it. "Because no one in here is honest. I mean, not a single person can admit that they're terrified," my cuffs rattle as I move my hands as if to hone in what I'm saying. "If we can't agree on that one basic truth, then it doesn't really matter."

"They could just be numb to it all." That's what Rossi offers up. It could help. It would help if I was in the free world.

"Well," my voice softens and even though I know there are gang members around me and people who want to hurt me, I let my guard down, "I'm not. There's," I drop my head the tiniest bit, "there's a helplessness in here that causes people to do things they'd never consider."

Rossi sighs, and this was what I was scared of. I open up and he has nothing to say to me. He has no world-class wisdom to offer. I'm prepared to do what I did to Garcia and practically ignore him for the rest of the visit, but when he reaches into his jacket, my intrigue beats out my disappointment.

I recognize the calligraphy on the front of the envelope as soon as I see it. It's on the front of every single one of my journals that still lay in my desk drawer. It looks as beautiful as ever in black ink, outlined and accented in a yellow pen. There's a lump in my throat that I try to swallow.

"I had to flash my badge just to get it in here so you better read it. I'm not letting you refuse to read this like you refuse to see her," Rossi moves the letter closer to me, directly in my eyesight.

I swallow the thick lump and slowly raise my cuffed hands to grab the envelope. I carefully, without ripping my cursive name, make a slice in the top with my finger and pull out pieces of paper that I recognize to be paper ripped out of Amelia's journal.

"Did you read this?" I ask Rossi as I place the envelope down.

"It was still sealed, wasn't it?"

I nod and stay silent as I drop my head again. I could cry just at the sight of Amelia's handwriting. She touched this paper. This specific piece of paper. This piece of paper was in her hands, in her apartment, and now it’s in my hands. She sat and put pen to paper and wrote this out for me to read. And with one final breath, I finally bring myself to actually start reading it.

To my love dove,

Hi!! How are you? I'm only okay, but there's something I need to tell you can it can't wait any longer.

I started watching this tv show called The Good Doctor a few weeks ago and I've finished the entire series. Honestly, Spencer, it's so amazing. I think you would love it so much.

I know you don't watch that much tv, unless I'm around, so I'll tell you what it's about. The show is about this resident surgeon named Shaun Murphy who is fighting to get a job at a hospital, but the administration of the hospital won't give him a job because he has autism. But then he saves a child's life in an airport or something (I can't remember exactly, it’s been a while) and does a procedure that is really innovative and outside the box and it floors everyone and the hospital hires him.

The show follows him navigating adult life and relationships and his job and him learning how to be less dependent on older people telling him what to do. He gets a girlfriend and loses his virginity and then starts talking about sex at work which is fucking hilarious but also stupidly inappropriate, and he has a friend who's a girl who his girlfriend has a problem with.

And then (I'm sorry, baby, but spoilers are coming!!)  they kill off one of the main characters at the end of the third season! How dumb! Melendez was one of my favorite characters and he was just about to admit to Claire that he's in love with her and then they killed him off for such a stupid reason. The season ends on a cliffhanger! You know how much I hate cliffhangers. And that plot of Claire and Melendez falling in love was teased at for so long and they gave it to us just to take it right away!!!! Cruel!! Do I have grounds to sue for emotional distress? I think there is. I should get on this.

Okay. I've calmed down now.

Fine. You caught me. I haven't. I'll never calm down from my heartbreak over Dr. Melendez. But I can move on for now.

I think you would really like this show and I'd be willing to watch it again with you. I think you'd enjoy it. They talk a lot about medical terms and medical procedures and there’s diagrams and everything. And whether they're accurate and precise or not, I'm sure you'd enjoy picking out mistakes in the procedures or telling me why the procedures are revolutionary. And no matter which option it is, I'm ready to listen and learn.

Before I watched The Good Doctor, I finished watching Lucifer, but I know that you hated that show. But he went back to Hell!!!!!!!!!!! He really did That!!!!! He left Chloe and went to Hell!!!!!! So fucking rude. I screamed out loud when he said he was leaving. Thankfully, there's going to be a season five and maybe I'll make you watch that with me so we can see what happens with Lucifer and Chloe. I debated on watching Star Trek or Doctor Who because you're always talking about how much you love those shows, but I know I won't understand it. I'll need you to explain it to me. I think I'll just wait to watch those with you. Sounds like a good date night to me.

I love you more than words can even express. I miss you more than I will ever be able to say (or in this case, write). I know you're not doing well and I know you don't want to see me but I hope that hearing from me helps you in some way. I don't know how it would but I hope it does.

I love you. I promise, I'll see you so soon.

With all the love in my tiny body,

from your pretty girl,

Amelia <3

ps. idk if you're shaving your face in there but... I'm curious to see what you look like with a mustache and beard... that's a sight I never thought you'd let me see. Hmm. I shouldn't let my mind wander. Sorry. I love you. Kisses.

I read over her letter once, twice, three times. Every time I read it, I notice something new. Every time I read the letter, I notice a teardrop beside a word, of a subtle smudge of a pen, or another hesitation in her pen stroke.

I read it again. And then I read it again. But then I read it one more time. And just when I think I've had enough, I read it another time. I’m on the tenth read before the wheels actually start turning in my head, slower than usual. This letter has distraction written all over it in Amelia’s pretty writing. I don't like medical dramas and I hated Lucifer. She knows that. She acknowledged that in her letter. But this is the kind of thing she would tell me as we're eating dinner when I get home from a case, or as we're laying in bed, or when we're showering, or when we're sitting on the balcony of one of our apartments. This serves that purpose, except this time, it's in letter form. She's distracting me. God, I would give anything to break out of here and drag her to a courthouse and marry her right now.

"Reid?"

My head snaps up when Rossi speaks, and when I force our eyes to meet, he's holding out a pen. I know for a fact that pens aren't allowed. Pens could be considered a weapon in the hands of the wrong inmate. He snuck this in, and I'm not sure how, but I don't want to know how.

I snatch the pen out of his hand and rip the sides of the envelope so there's more room to write, scribbling down my thoughts as fast as possible. I don't want to get caught. If I do, I can't imagine the trouble I'll get in, especially if Wilkins catches me. When I'm pleased with what I've written, I fold up the envelope and hand that and the pen back to Rossi. But I keep the letter, tucking it into the waistband of my pants so it's completely out of sight.

Rossi smiles, putting the envelope back in his jacket pocket and flattening the lapels. "Is there anything you want me to tell her?"

"Tell her--" I'm cut off by a sharp alarm going off, a guard screaming about a lockdown, and for all the inmates to return to their cells. I sigh, rising to my feet. "It's all there. Just give that to her."

///

AMELIA

///

"Hi, Jeannie," My voice is only a mumble as I greet the receptionist. She gives me a pitiful smile, another new tradition that has only formed in the last few weeks, handing over a visitor's pass and watching as I clip it to the pocket of my jacket.

I drag myself to the elevator and hit the up button, drag myself inside, and when it opens on the sixth floor, I drag myself to Penelope's office. My mood is lower than it has been lately. I didn’t really think it could get any lower. But here I am with a heart heart, hunched shoulders, and the inability to smile. I'm not sure why I feel like this on this specific day, as opposed to any other shitty day, but maybe it's because I know that Penelope went to visit Spencer today. All I know is that I barely wanted to drag myself off of Jenna's couch this morning and get dressed and show up here. I could barely pay attention to the new episode of The Good Doctor that Jenna coaxed me into watching with her last night. I could barely get myself to come through the front doors of the building, but I show up to the BAU every single morning like I work here.

I plug in the code to Penelope's door and push it open, and I’m welcomed to a sight that I didn't think I'd see for a while. Luke is kneeling in front of Penelope, and at first, I think that he's finally confessing his feelings for her. My first intention is to silently back away and let them have their moment. His hands are on her knees and she isn’t insulting him, so nothing about this interaction could be bad, right? But then I notice that she's crying, and my heart drops. I don’t back away. 

My hand slips off the doorknob and it slams shut, making me flinch on impact. The two stare up at me like deer caught in headlights. I see this expression way too much for my liking nowadays. And judging by the sheer fact that there are still tears dripping down Penelope's cheeks, this isn't good. Nothing is ever good anymore.

"What happened?" I don't step closer, I don't grab Penelope's hand, I don't touch Luke's shoulder. My heart is pounding against my chest and my hands are starting to shake.

Luke glances at Penelope before rising to his feet. "Garcia went to see Reid today."

"I know," I snap faster than I intended to. "What happened to him? Is he okay? What--" my voice betrays me and I can't choke out another question.

Luke sucks in a breath, keeping a stony, emotionless face. "He got beat up."

"Beat up?" I regurgitate the disgusting words that have just been spewed at me, backing myself against the wall. "He got--"

Penelope stands up and moves towards me, lacking her normal finesse. "His face had bruises and he seemed agitated but he seemed fine otherwise--"

"He's not fine if he got beat up," My anger, somehow, quickly dissipates and turns to heartache. My heart pounds against my chest at an alarming rate. My eyes flood with tears and my knees start to give out from under me, and I go sliding to the ground, curling into myself. "He's trapped inside with the people who beat him up and there's nothing he can do."

"Listen," Luke kneels in front of me and places a hand on my shoulder, but I can't bring myself to shake it off or even look up at him, "I'm gonna get an extra set of eyes on Reid. He's mentioned something about another inmate that sounds like an ex-FBI agent, and I think I know how I can get him to protect Reid. Amelia, he's gonna be okay. I'm gonna go to the prison right now and figure this all out. You call me if you need anything at all."

Luke stands again and smiles at Penelope, quickly leaving the room. And once he's gone, Penelope takes his place on the floor beside me, sitting with her legs straight out. She's silent, but I'm not sure why. Is she giving me space? Is she waiting for me to speak? Is she figuring out what to say? Is she too scared to say anything? I wouldn't blame her if she was. I'm not the person I was anymore.

I reach into my pocket and pull out Spencer's medallion, passing it between my fingers. "I'm sorry," I whisper, keeping my gaze on the metal circle. "I haven't exactly been a best friend lately, or a friend at all. I've just been a bitch."

"No, you don't need to apologize," Penelope insists, scooting closer to me. "This is a really hard time for you. It's understandable. I don't expect you to want to be listening to my guy problems or wanting to drink wine. I mean, I don't even want to be doing either of those things. It seems too...cheerful for right now."

My lips quiver and I try to hold back my tears, but no matter how hard I squeeze the medallion, my tears won’t retreat and my pain doesn’t disappear. "I just really miss him, and I'm really worried about him."

"We all are," Penelope sighs, patting my leg. "But we're working as hard as we can to get him out."

"I know you are," I flip the medallion over and stare down at the compass. "I just hope he comes home soon because I don't know how much longer I'll last without him."

///

The snapping of my pencil against paper shakes me back to reality, and my head pops up. I find that I've been jamming my pencil into my sketchbook, creating a hole in the paper that has effectively ruined my drawing and maybe even ruined my entire sketchbook.

A groan leaves my lips and I drop my sketchbook to the floor, my pencil following. I shouldn't be upset. Whatever it was I was drawing was horrible anyway. I haven't drawn anything good since Spencer got arrested. My art revolves around joy and happiness and the good things in my life and if I don't have any of that, how am I expected to make art?

"Hey," Jenna comes and sits beside me, placing a cup of tea on the coffee table. I don't touch it. She never makes it as good as Spencer. She picks up the sketchbook and lets out a sigh. "It's a shame there's a hole in it now. I liked what you were drawing."

"It was bad," I respond, letting my head fall onto her shoulder. "Nothing in there was any good."

"I disagree," Jenna drops the book and slings her arm around my shoulder, drawing me into her embrace. She’s not nearly as warm as Spencer. "Sometimes, our best work comes from dark places. You know, like comedians. A lot of comedians have depression and--"

"Jen, I appreciate it but I'm not in the mood for this," I murmur, eyelids feeling heavy. I rest my head on her lap and stare up at her, resisting the urge to purr as she starts to brush her fingers through my hair, but it's nothing like the way Spencer does it. Spencer, somehow, doesn't let his fingers get caught in my curls and he doesn't tug on knots. His hands are big and veiny and strong and not dainty and tiny like Jenna's.

"I'm sorry," Jenna apologizes with a heavy sigh.

"No, I'm sorry," I catch her hand in mine and intertwine our fingers, squeezing tightly. "I've been horrible lately. I've just-- what I'm going through with Spencer is no reason to be acting like a bad friend to you. You've been so generous and so helpful and so--"

"Hey, listen," Jenna cuts me off with her sweet smile, "when everything with Spencer is resolved and he's settled at home with his mom and with you, then you can take me out and throw me a Jenna appreciation party. But for right now, don't worry about me. Just worry about you and staying healthy and trying to stay happy, and focus your energy on your happy memories with Spencer."

"You're the best, have I ever told you that?"

"Hey!" Jenna exclaims. "Save it for the appreciation party."

I smile back up at my best friend, nodding slowly. "Okay, yeah, I can do that. Once I get my shit together, I'll throw you an amazing party."

"And I look forward to it," Jenna quips, and then looks at the time. "Okay, I've gotta get to a meeting but you're welcome to stay here if you want. My apartment is all yours."

"No, I think I'm gonna go home for a bit. Probably shower and then get to the BAU with fresh clothes. I feel all," I sit up, brushing my fingers over my cheeks and grimacing, "greasy and oily."

Jenna returns my ruined sketchbook and ushers me out the door, watching me get into my car to make sure I get there safely. I wave goodbye to her before driving off, not even bothering to turn on the radio. I never do anymore.

Trudging up to my door, I unlock it and toss my keys aside, throwing my bag down on the floor and kneeling down to take off my shoes. I pull out my hair tie and drop it to the floor, then leave a trail of clothes to the kitchen. First my denim jacket, then my socks, then my crop top. I'm left in my bra and sweatpants in the middle of the kitchen, reaching into the fridge for something to eat. It’s nearly empty. Of course it is. I haven’t had the energy to go shopping lately. 

I reach my hand out but I pause and scrunch up my nose at a strong scent. Why does it smell like bubblegum in here? Again. I don’t even like the scent or taste of bubblegum, and I obviously didn’t buy any gum recently. I roll my eyes, wandering over to the window to open it further and let out the smell. I breathe in a bit of the fresh air and sigh, stepping away and going back to my original plan of getting something to eat. Maybe the older woman next door has a bubblegum candle that she likes to light whenever I’m home. 

But the smell is persistent and it's filling my lungs and my brain and my tongue. I start to walk towards the window again but my feet don't let me. It's like there's someone telling me not to go and breath in the fresh air outside, and so, I don't. I stand in the middle of my kitchen like a floundering fish, gripping the island with white knuckles. My head feels fuzzy. My eyes feel like they should be rolling into my skull. It’s that familiar feeling of not having control over myself. That sickly familiar feeling of someone standing right behind me, whispering in my ear and telling me what to do. 

But then I feel the urge to shut the window completely, so I do. I rush over and slam it closed with so much force that I think I might break the glass. But I'm confused. I'm so confused. The bubblegum smell is nauseating so why am I closing the window? What is telling me to close the window? Who is telling me to close the window?

I feel my feet walking over to the couch and I lay down. My eyelids feel heavy and I don't stop myself when I feel an intense need to lay down and close my eyes, to rest. I curl up and drift off comfortably, into the best sleep I've gotten since I had the privilege of sleeping in a bed with Spencer.

When I finally wake again, my head is pounding. I whine out loud, curling my knees into my chest and tossing my arm over my eyes, trying to block out the lights above me. But nothing works so I roll off the couch, falling onto my knees in a pathetic heap. I lift my head, finding an empty bottle of white wine on the coffee table. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion. I didn’t drink wine today. The bottle is empty but I didn’t drink. I mean, I feel hungover but I know I didn’t drink. The smell of bubblegum is gone. 

I reach around for my phone, but after groping the couch and the coffee table, I come up empty. I conclude that I've left it in my backpack which I dropped beside the door. I grind my teeth as my muscles pop when I stand and walk over to the foyer, rubbing my eyes and letting out a dramatically loud yawn. When I get to the foyer, I find that my backpack is nowhere in sight. That's odd. I could have sworn that I left it here when I got home from Jenna's apartment, but I guess in my blackout, I moved it.

I turn on my heel to head back to the kitchen, and the first thing I notice is that it's not morning anymore. It's dark out. My head whips towards the clock and I find that it's almost midnight. I must have gotten drunk. I must have finished that whole bottle myself and the alcohol made me forget. I drank the entire day away, somehow. That's not like me. That's never happened before. I drink wine all the time, I know I can hold my wine. How did one single bottle of wine do this to me?

Shaking my head at myself and pushing away my pathetic tears, I move on to my kitchen. Surely enough, the contents of my backpack are strewn across the island and my phone is right there. What I need it for? I'm not sure. But despite the fact that I've just woken up, I'm exhausted. So with my phone in my hand, half dressed, belly button ring falling out, hair tangled, head pounding, and my brain swirling, I drag myself up the stairs and collapse into bed.

The sheets smell like him. They always do. They always will. The pillow he claimed as his own will always be stained with the scent of his cologne, and no matter the amount of times I wash it, it was always smell like him. I roll over and hug his pillow to my chest, and this time, I don't stop the dam from breaking. I let the tears flow down my cheeks relentlessly and I let the sobs rack my body and I let myself succumb to the depression I've barely been fighting off.

But I don't let my mind succumb too much, not to the bad thoughts that are hounding me. I stumble off the bed and into my bedside table, pulling out my journal and holding it in my lap. My pen moves faster than my mind does and before I know it, I'm signing my name at the end. I don't even proofread it. I don't check for spelling or grammar errors or try to dry the tear stains or fix any pen smudges. I just rip out the pages, fold them up, put on some clothes, and jump in my car. 

The doors the the sixth floor open as I fiddle with my visitors pass on my hip. I see Stephen first and he smiles at me, stepping out of the way and gesturing me for me to go past. I thank him softly and go tiptoeing by, pulling open the bullpen door and stepping in. JJ and Tara are talking with Anderson and Kevin by the coffee machine and I send them a wave, but I don't go over to talk. I haven't been in the mood for small talk lately. And besides, it’s midnight. Everyone is here incredibly late to work and small talk would distract them from their obvious mountain of work. They don’t need the extra worry of me showing up hungover and confused. I keep my head down to avoid everyone. 

I pass Emily and get to Dave's door, knocking much softer than I have in the past. He calls for me to enter, and when I do, I give him one of the fake smiles I've become so accustomed to lately. "Hi," I state gently.

"Hi," he gestures for me to sit, and when I do, he closes to door. "Are you okay?"

"I am," I nod quickly, probably way too quickly, and bring my backpack into my lap, digging through the contents. "I saw that--"

"Are you drunk?" He interrupts me, narrowing his eyes at me as he takes a seat again.

I fiend surprise, shaking my head. "No! Of course not! Why would you--"

"Your eyes are bloodshot and you're not speaking properly, you're slurring your words," Dave points out bluntly.

I don't move my gaze from his as my hands finally land on what I was searching for, and I pull it out, holding it to him. "I saw on Garcia's board that you're the next to visit Spencer. Could you bring that to him? It's just a letter."

Dave takes the envelope from my hand and admires the calligraphy on the front, the same I always use to label Spencer's sketchbooks. He nods and tucks it into his jacket pocket. "I'll bring it. The prison checks everything and--"

"If they confiscate it, I don't wanna know," I tell him, standing and putting my backpack on again, heading towards his office door. "Just-- everything I have to say is in that letter. I've gotten it out and even if he doesn't get to read it," I shrug my shoulders up to my ears and laugh pitifully, "whatever. I just hope he's safe now."

I go home. I leave with my head down and tears in my eyes. Dave is going to think I’m a crazy drunk who can’t control herself. The reality is, I don’t even know what happened today. I’m just confused and sad. I’m missing Spencer, I hate the smell of bubblegum, and I can’t do my job anymore. Everything is fucking horrible. Everything has gone to shit.

Like clockwork, I bring myself to the BAU the next morning. Freshly showered and in presentable clothes, looking better than I have in months. An obvious overcompensation for what Dave said to me yesterday. I need to show him somehow that I’m okay. Well, I’m not okay but I don’t need anyone worrying about me. I should have practiced my fake smile in the elevator.

"Hey, you," Penelope smiles softly as I walk into her lair, dropping my backpack on the empty desk. "Feeling okay?"

"Meh," I shrug, sitting down in a free chair and drawing my knees to my chest. "I'm trying to keep my spirits up. It's hard, you know? It keeps getting longer and longer since I've seen him and the longer it gets, the harder it gets. I’m trying to keep it together. It’s hard, P."

"I think I may be able to help with that," Dave's voice at the door makes the both of us jump. Neither of us had even realized he had come in right behind me. But I jump to my feet and smooth down my skirt, adjusting my nose ring so it’s perfect and brushing my straightened hair behind my ears.

"Help with that?" Penelope repeats, glancing between us. "Help with that how?"

Dave reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out the envelope for the letter I'd written for Spencer, and my heart drops to my feet. Why was I thinking? What made me think he would be able to bring my letter in? He's in a maximum-security prison. Spencer can barely take a shower without prison guard eyes on him. He's not going to be able to get a letter from a visitor without it being checked and rejected first.

"I told you I didn't wanna know if he could see it," I whisper, looking down at my lap and hating the way my eyes instantly burn with tears. I’ve cried too much lately. "You should've just thrown it out. I don't want it back, just--"

He drops the envelope onto my lap to shut me up, but now, it's unfolded and there's writing on the inside. My body jerks ungracefully when I recognize Spencer's handwriting and I snatch it up to read what he's written for me.

To my pretty girl,

The Good Doctor sounds like a great show, and even though you've basically spoiled the whole show for me, I'd love to rewatch it with you. Medical dramas tend to be incorrect with their facts so I'd like to see how much of the show is accurate. And no, I will not watch Lucifer with you. But I will absolutely watch Star Trek and Doctor Who with you. It would be my pleasure to explain them to you.

I think of you every single day. You are the reason I'm pushing through and you are the reason I'm still alive. You are the reason I get out of bed and you are the reason I'm sane at all. You're still my north. Don't forget that. I’m going to come home to you.

Like you said, words cannot describe how intensely and how badly I miss you. Things are hard right now but I promise that I'll see you soon and I promise that everything will be okay.

Listen to some Brahms or Mozart for me. I love you so much.

With all the love I have left to give,

Your Dove

ps. There are no razors here and I haven't shaved in months. Enjoy.

pps. Thank you for distracting me. It worked wonders. You're truly amazing.

I read his letter over and over and over. I examine every single word on the page and I barely even notice when my tears start to fall on the paper. His writing is messy, it always has been, but it's so beautiful. Maybe I think it's so extraordinarily beautiful because I know he touched this piece of paper and now I'm touching it. It's from his heart. It's from him. It's from my Spencer.

"Penny," I whimper out, and she is at my side in a second, placing her hand on my shoulder. "He—” I sniffle and hiccup, “he promised."

"He promised?" She echoes, her voice sounding hopeful but like she's talking to a child. "What did he promise?"

"He promised that everything is gonna be okay," I clutch the paper in my hand, admiring its beauty and counting the strokes that Spencer made with the pen. "And he told me again that I'm his north and-- that's good, right? He's still there, you know, mentally."

Penelope nods at me, reaching down to wipe my tears. "Yeah, Amelia, that's really good that he said those things."

I drop the letter to the floor and throw my arms around Dave, crying into his shoulder. "Thank you so much. Thank you for doing this for me."

He hugs me back tightly. "Anything to see you and the kid happy. Anything for you two."

TAGLIST

@babybloodstonebones @bxnnywriting @blameitonthenight21 @feralreid @anepiphany @reidscardigan @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @stxrrywildflower @penemily @whollytaciturn @thegingerfairchild @yasminwashere​ @shrimpyblog​ @anamelessfacelessnerd @wonderlandhatter​ @whxt-to-write​ @inkandexchange​ @just-call-me-non​

#nikos north fic #spencer reid #dr reid #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #mgg #matthew gubler #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction

[geniusgub]

chapter eighteen

genre: angst

warnings: prison, solitary confinement, kidnapping, ptsd, hospitals, car accident (no description, just mentions), Cat Adams, allusions to sexual assault

word count: 12.4k (sorry friends)

summary: amelia comes to terms with spencer coming home. spencer needs to save his mom and catch scratch. it's too much for 24 hours.

pairing: season 12 spencer reid x oc

AMELIA

Being woken up by banging at my door was not how I expected my day to start. I'd barely even slept. All my friends came over to my apartment when I told them I needed support, and we wound up staying up until the early hours of the morning watching tv.

But Frankie shook me awake, telling me that someone had been knocking on the door for a few minutes and they weren't going away. I pushed Frankie away at first, murmuring for him to answer it himself.

"Lia," Jenna took her turn in shaking my shoulder, "it's Penelope and JJ! You have to open it. Go."

And so I pushed myself off the couch, falling onto my knees but dragging myself away from my sleepy group of friends. Penelope and JJ burst in the door as soon as I opened it, and in the past, the tear stains on their cheeks would have made me panic. But they're smiling and hugging me and grabbing my hands and the excitement confused me but didn't make me wonder what happened to Spencer.

"We're going to get him." Penelope blurted out, holding my shoulders too tightly and beaming at me and JJ. "You didn't want updates so I didn't give you any but now that we know about Lindsay and that she drugged Reid, we found evidence that put her in Mexico and we also found partial prints and we got them to a judge just in time and she agreed to release Reid!"

"It's over, Amelia, he's coming home," JJ added, pulling me into another too-tight hug.

I didn't believe them. Penelope and JJ seemed elated and ready to bring me to the prison, and even my friends gave me hugs when I moved back towards the living room for my shoes. But it didn't seem real. It didn't seem like reality. Almost five months without Spencer and receiving bad news after bad news after bad news, I should have believed that all of a sudden he's coming home? It wasn't possible.

The girl's ushered me upstairs and told me to change as quickly as I could. And if I believed them, maybe I would have dressed better. Maybe I would have throw on a dress and my signature boots and put my hair up and thrown in my piercings and slapped a smile on my face. Maybe I would've made myself look presentable. But none of this seemed real and so I didn't even care. I just threw on a new pair of pajamas and my glasses and ran my fingers through the knots in my hair. When I returned to the girls downstairs, I just grabbed my backpack and shrugged.

"I'm gonna take my own car," I had picked my car keys up from the bowl as we left my apartment. I insisted that I wanted to drive my own car and not ride with the girls and Luke, but Penelope insisted that she drive my car. Something about me maybe not being in the right mindset to drive. I didn’t have the energy to argue. So she snatched the keys out of my hand and dragged me to my car, making sure I got in the passenger seat, and then drove off.

The silence loomed over us as she drove and I just stared out the window at the passing sights. I tried to keep my breathing regulated and my tears at bay. A few slipped out and rolled down my cheeks but I didn't let them stay for long, I couldn't let that type of weakness linger.

"Hey," Penelope eventually broke the silence, "why aren't you more excited? Spencer's coming home."

I shook my head, biting down on my lip. "Because I don't believe it."

"You don't believe it?" She asked, glancing over at me. "We’re going there now, Amelia. Going to go get him."

"Penelope." I turned to her, my throat tightened to stop the flood gates from opening. "Every time I came to the BAU, there was some horrible news waiting for me. Spencer's arrested, Spencer's going to prison, Spencer's trial was pushed back, Spencer got beat up, Spencer stabbed himself to get into solitary confinement. I know you guys are amazing at your jobs, you're the absolute best at your jobs and I'm sorry if I'm being harsh, but I'm not gonna believe it when you and JJ come knocking on my door on a random Wednesday morning to tell me that Spencer is coming home after he basically tried to start a fight with someone in prison. I'm not getting my hopes up."

Penelope didn't say anything after my tantrum. She just kept her eyes forward and she drove, and when the prison finally came into view, I had to look away. I had bitched and moaned and cried and screamed about Spencer not putting me on his visitor list but as I finally laid eyes on the building where Spencer was being trapped and tortured, I knew I'd never be able to step foot inside. I knew I couldn't force myself into a building where Spencer went through the worst moments in his life.

"I can't go in," I said to Penelope, and she didn't even ask why. She didn't ask why, she didn't try to convince me to go in, she didn't complain.

The three of them rushed inside the prison and I was left in the parking lot. I eventually migrated outside my car, leaning against the driver’s side and staring up at the clouds. I couldn't see any shapes at that moment. I wonder if Spencer was able to see any yet. The last time I'd asked, he couldn't. I wonder if he could look up at the sky and see a hair bow or a tree or a bird.

Time ticked on, and on, and on, and my heart sank closer and closer to my feet. I knew it was too good to be true. They went in there to get Spencer and now they won't let him out. Why else would it have taken so long? How long does it take to get someone out of prison? Surely not the hour and a half that I stood out in the cold, trying to bring my sweater closer around my body to keep me warm.

I just stared at the clouds and wished with every fiber of my being that this would be over soon so I could go home and curl up in bed. I didn't want to be trapped in my stuffy car, or stranded at this horrible prison, or anywhere near the BAU team.

I reached into my pocket, pulling out Spencer's sobriety medallion. There was never a day that I left my apartment without it. I traveled every single step with it on my body. It didn't serve the same purpose to me that it would for a recovering addict, but it did do something similar. It reminded me that Spencer would come home to me. Every time I looked down at the circular metal, at the engraved N on the back, it reminded me that whether it be tomorrow, or next month, or next year, or next decade, Spencer would come home to me. He would, like he promised so many times that he would, remember to keep going north and he would come home. He would do what he believes is right and he would come home to me in one piece.

I twirled the cold metal in my hand and tapped my foot, waiting for this torture to be over. And maybe it was privileged of me to have that thought. I had all the privilege in the world to be sitting outside of a prison with car keys in my hand and a car full of gas that could take me anywhere, while my boyfriend was trapped inside, wasting away and serving time for a crime that he didn't commit while serial killers roam free and taunt the BAU with what they've done.

When you're younger, you memorize the sounds of your family members. I could always tell by the sound of a set of keys if it was my mom or my dad walking in the front door. By the pressure and amount of knocks, I could tell if it was my brother coming into my bedroom to play or my dad coming to hit me. I could always tell who was screaming louder downstairs by the frequency, and I quickly learned who was my mother and who was my father, even if their voices were muffled.

I only started to cry when I heard footsteps. I heard Penelope's heels clicking against the pavement from a mile away, but the moment I heard Spencer's dress shoes against the pavement, I relaxed and let the tears fall. I'd heard him wear those shoes for the entirety of our relationship and I knew the sounds of those just as well as the sound of my own voice. That was the moment that I knew it was real. This was happening. It was over. He was coming home and I would have him in my arms again.

He didn't say anything for what seemed like the longest time. Even as I sniffled and wiped my tears, he just stood and stared. I knew that the moment I looked at him, I would lose it, but not exactly how. I'd yelled and I'd cried and I'd lost my cool at the team, but how would I react towards Spencer? Would I do the same? I was pissed at him, that's for sure. I was pissed and hurt and scared and angry, and I wanted nothing more than to scream at him for putting me through this pain and for leaving me by myself for so long.

But I knew that I'd give anything to hug him, to kiss him, to comfort him, to have him in my arms. I wanted to cry and tell him that, despite his mother's abduction, he's safe. He doesn't have to fight for his life anymore and he doesn't have to watch his back. I just wanted to love him endlessly. But I didn't want to look at him. I didn't want to see what he looked like and face what he had been through and see the physical effects. So I kept my eyes up at the clouds, searching for clouds that I could distinguish to be a shape.

He moved closer and I swear, I could've screamed. Screamed, why? I'm not sure. My chest was so tight, I needed to get some sort of emotion out. But I just clutched the medallion as tightly as I could and zeroed in on a cloud that could possibly, maybe, only a little bit look like a square.

"I'm sorry," he said, but I had no clue what he was apologizing for. Honestly, there are so many things. Was he sorry for approaching me? Was he sorry for going to prison? Was he sorry for getting arrested? Was he sorry for going to Mexico? Was he sorry for bringing his mother to live with him? There are so many things that, in Spencer's mind, he could apologize for. Why now? But I still didn't look at him. "I tried to see dinosaurs and cars and lamps like you told me about, but I couldn't. I need you to teach me how to see shapes in the clouds because I can't do it without you, baby."

The fucking clouds. He apologized for not seeing shapes in the fucking clouds. He apologized because of one conversation we had after I dragged him to the park after he came home from a rough case. But somehow, I understood what he meant by it. He thought that he failed me and that he disappointed me because of this whole ordeal. Not being able to see a fucking dinosaur in the cloud is just a metaphor for his inability to keep himself out of harm’s way and out of Scratch's way. But I never saw it like that, and I wish he knew that.

And in my horrible effort to silently communicate to him that he didn't need to apologize, I looked into his eyes. I love this man with all my heart, but he looked absolutely horrible. His hair was significantly longer than I remembered and looked like it hadn't been brushed in years, his facial hair, while I was right in predicting that it is undeniably sexy, was unkempt, and he had the darkest circles under his eyes that I'd ever seen. I'd seen him deprived of sleep before, but at that moment, I wondered if he ever actually closed his eyes for the duration of his stay in prison.

He reached out for me, and just when his fingers were about to brush the fabric of my coat, he retracted his hands. I wished he hadn't. I wished he grabbed me as tightly as he could the moment he walked over here and kissed me with every bit of strength he had left in his body. I trembled with desire, just needing to feel Spencer on me. But I didn't want to rush him. I knew he went through a lot in those walls and he was clearly a bit unhinged, and I didn't want to set him off.

"I--" he hesitated, it seemed, stumbling over his words. He gulped, choking back tears. I wanted to reach for him, to hold him, to kiss him, to hug him like I'd been craving to do for months on end. But I reminded myself to breathe through my tears and not accost him. "Lia, I need you."

That was all it took. We broke down after that. We broke down crying, and hugging, and kissing, the way we had both been longing to do so badly for months. It was an outpouring of love and emotions and tears and part of me thought that it still didn't even feel real. It was just a moment of relief and happiness before Spencer would be ushered back inside and stolen right from me again.

Even now, it doesn't seem real. Even now as JJ comes to put her hands on our shoulders and grins at us, telling us that the other three are going to head back to the BAU. Penelope and Luke give us hugs and head back to the SUV, leaving Spencer and me alone again.

It doesn't feel real as I pull my keys out of my pocket, turning to my boyfriend with a slightly tired smile. "I know I shouldn't try to convince you to go home and shower, or change, or just-- go home and rest."

Spencer gives me a tight-lipped smile, shaking his head no. "I know you want me home, but I gotta get my mom back."

"I know. I knew that answer already. Get in," I gesture to the passenger side of my car and climb in, starting the engine. I watch the SUV pull away in front of us and put my car into drive, double-checking that Spencer has buckled his seat belt before I pull away from the prison. I catch Spencer's eyes lingering on the building as we pull away, and I wish I could know what's going on in his head. "Hey," I whisper, and his head slowly turns to me, "it's over, dove. You don't have to go back ever again."

Spencer starts to nod but his gaze travels out the window again. The silence in the car thickens and it makes me nervous. It scares me, to be honest. I've heard stories about inmates being institutionalized, but I have no idea what that means. I know of the major events that happened to Spencer in prison but I don't know what he saw, or experienced, or what's going on in his head. I don't know if he's changed and I don't know if he's stayed exactly the same. But if I'm getting the answer based on this car ride, I would bet that he's changed exponentially. Spencer always filled our car rides with stories and facts and statistics. We've never had a silent car ride.

"Amelia?" He's, surprisingly, the one who breaks the silence. "Um--"

"Yeah?" I encourage him to keep talking, looking over at him when I stop at a red light.

Spencer looks down at his lap, fiddling with one of the cuff links on his jacket. "This seems sort of, um, silly, I guess, but, um, could you, um--"

"Lovey, just ask. You don't need to be afraid," I turn my head to him and smile. I try not to let my mind wander off and question how maybe smiles he's seen lately. I try not to let my mind wander off and question how many times he hasn't been afraid lately.

Spencer chews on his bottom lip as he stares back at me, still wondering if he should even ask what he wants to. And I'm not sure what it is that finally calms him enough to ask, but he nods after a moment. "Could you, um, if you could still drive, could you, just, hold my hand?"

It's such a simple request. It's a question that, in the past, would have never even needed to have been asked. Spencer would have just reached over and grabbed my hand at a red light without asking. Maybe he would have kissed me too, and he probably would have even had his hand on my thigh by now. But now he seems so hesitant to touch me, and I don't know if I want to know if it's my fault or his fault.

I retract my right hand from the steering wheel and hold it out to him. "Of course. You know you don't need to ask, Spence."

Spencer nods wordlessly, intertwining our fingers and dropping our hands into his lap. He holds them there, staring straight forward when I start to drive again. I soon feel his other hand covering my knuckles and it brings goosebumps to my skin.

"You got another tattoo," he observes, and then runs his pointer finger over the black ink, "and it's for me."

"I got it after your court hearing," I say softly because even though he brought up the tattoo, I don't necessarily want to bring up things like his arrest and when he was sentenced to go to jail. "Everyone came out to tell me what happened and I just dragged Penelope out and got it done right away. I wanted a reminder of you."

Spencer lifts our entwined hands, pressing his lips to the back of my hand. "I love it." His lips are soft and warm and I never want him to pull away, but then I remind myself that his kisses aren't going anywhere. He's out of prison and he's not leaving me again and he's coming home.

I glance down at our hands and a small smile comes to my face. But he doesn't say anything else and he just moves his gaze back out the window. So I keep driving and I don't say anything else until we arrive at the building where I've spent all of my time lately.

I'm starting to break again as I throw my car into park, leaning my one hand against the steering wheel as I choke back a new wave of tears. "Spencer," my voice cracks pathetically, and I can't even bring myself to look at him, "they're gonna find your mom, and everything's gonna be okay."

"You don't know that," Spencer scoffs and he drops my hand from his grasp. "She's been taken by serial killers who put me in prison just because they wanted to have some excitement in their lives. They could--" he shutters, digging the heel of his hand into his eye, "they could just kill her and-- and-- I'll never see her again."

When I look over at him, something just makes me realize how much he's changed, but I'm not sure what. Maybe it's how he's speaking to me and how he let go of my hand. Spencer never used to let go of my hand if he had the chance to hold it. He would always be making some sort of physical contact with me. I see how he's changed in the way his hair curls, and the way his suit lays on his broader shoulders, and the way his eyes dart across the new environment he's moved into. I suddenly don't even know how to talk to him. I suddenly don't even think I should be in the same car as him, sitting next to him, and then more tears are streaming down my cheeks as those horrible thoughts come to mind.

I tug the keys out of the ignition and reach for the door handle. "Ready to go in?" And without another word or a glance towards me, Spencer pulls open the passenger door and strides towards the entrance.

I always thought that when Spencer got out of prison, it would be an absolute relief. I thought once we cried and hugged and kissed, we would spend some time with the team, and then I'd be able to take him home. I'd be able to take him home and shower him in love and tell him how much I missed him and how much I love him and start dishing out all the affection he missed out the last few months.

I didn't think that he'd hug the team for two seconds upon his return to the BAU, and then they'd go running off in their kevlars. We had gone to his apartment to grab a few things but that was a quick stop and we came right back.

I didn't think that my first day back with Spencer would consist of me watching him pace insistently in the round table room. But here I am, sitting with my legs crossed in the of the rolling chairs while Spencer mumbles to himself and walks the length of the room, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. It's making me crazy, honestly, and he's never paced before. I've always hated pacing. But I know he's anxious about his mom and there's nothing I can do to help.

"Spence?" He barely even acknowledges when I say his name. "Spencer," I say his name a bit sharper, and that's when he stops pacing and looks at me. His hair is disheveled and his eyes are swollen from how he keeps rubbing them.

I beckon him over with a slight wave of my hand, turning the chair beside me towards him. Spencer's chest deflates at my simple and silent request and that hurts, but nonetheless, he throws his body into the seat beside me. "What do you need?" He forces the question out, trying to sound somewhat polite despite his utter panic and stress.

I reach into my pocket and pull out his medallion, staring down at it for a moment before handing it over to him. "I've been carrying it around with me since you got arrested. Haven't taken a step without it in my pocket. Maybe it'll help to, I don't know, ground you? Maybe it won't help at all but I figured it wouldn't hurt you to have it right now."

Spencer reaches forward the grab the medallion from me, and when his fingers brush against mine, it sends a shock up my arm. Gosh, it's like we're touching for the first time all over again. He stares down at it, flipping it around in his fingers a few times before he lets out a long breath.

"Amelia," he practically whimpers, and the sound hurts more than his hostility. He makes a fist around the medallion around me and looks up at me, his eyes rimmed red. "Will you hold me?"

I quickly scramble out of my chair and onto Spencer's lap, wrapping my arms around his neck and resting my head on his chest. We sit like that forever, it seems, just waiting for any word from the team or for them to arrive back here. Spencer stays silent though and just holds my waist, his forehead resting against my shoulder. We stay so still and so silent that I fall asleep in Spencer's embrace. After all, I was woken up at the crack of dawn after a late night with wine and my friends.

I'm shaken awake, though, when Spencer quickly ushers me off his lap and back into the chair I was previously in. He's on his feet in a minute, spewing out a million questions to the team that is filing in with their kevlars still on.

"Where's my mom?" He asks hastily, glancing around the room. When nobody gives him an immediate answer, he slams his hands against the table with every bit of strength he has, and the force is enough to jolt me completely awake and alert. "Tell me! Where is my mom? Is she dead?" I stand, placing my hand on Spencer's arm, but he quickly and easily shakes it off. "Don't touch me!" He shouts, barely even looking at me before returning his attention to his team. "Where's my mom?!"

Everyone in the room is utterly shocked by his explosive behavior, especially me. I'm so shocked that I cower away from him, all the way until my back hits the wall and I'm across the room from him. But nobody pays any mind to me, they're all staring at Spencer.

"Spence, she wasn't there," Emily speaks first, quietly and gently. "We have reason to believe that she's okay, but, um, we got more insight from the house that we need to tell you about. And Amelia, I'm sorry, but I'm gonna have to ask you to leave."

I don't need to be asked twice. I flee from the conference room. I tangle my fingers in my curls and hurry down the ramp, falling into the chair at Spencer's desk, pulling my knees up to my chest again. I pull in deep breaths through my nose and close my eyes, trying to forget the image of Spencer yelling at me and rejecting my comfort.

He's never, ever yelled at me like that. We've been together for two and a half years now and in the two years that we were physically together, we never fought. And in the times that we argued, it was over little things. We argued over missed dates and forgotten chores and broken household items. But Spencer never once raised his voice at me like that and he never pushed me away from him.

I don't know how to deal with him. I've only been in his presence for two hours, at most, and I've already had countless moments of confusion and bafflement. He's different. I should have expected that. But he's so different and I don't know how to help him. I don't know how to calm him down and what I'm supposed to say to him to remind him that he's safe. Am I supposed to say anything at all?

I only lift my head when I start to hear shouting. My eyes dart back towards the conference room where it seems like the team is arguing all amongst each other, shedding their kevlars and throwing them aside. Their anger seems to be mostly towards Emily, but then it momentarily turns to Spencer when he starts speaking, and then it's back to Emily. Rossi is pacing, Penelope is on the verge of tears, and the rest of the team just looks outraged. But oddly enough, Spencer looks calm. He's looked calm this whole time.

And then he lets his gaze linger out to me. He lets himself look out of the conference room to my curled up body, watching helplessly from the outside as the team argues over a matter I can't be involved in. His face softens and even from here, I can see that he sighs. I try to muster up some sort of smile, one that's surely weak and not comforting in the slightest. But at least I offer him something other than crime and arguing.

Spencer turns away from his team and leaves the conference room, taking his time in wandering over to me. I watch his every step, wondering what is going on and why everyone is so up in arms. Maybe I don't even want to know. I'm sure it will just make me mad anyways, especially if it's making Penelope so upset.

Spencer gets to his desk and leans against the edge beside me, breathing out a sigh that's tense and rigid. "I, um--" he clears his throat, putting his hands in his lap and looking down at them, "I'm sorry I yelled at you like that."

I nod at him, reaching forward to wiggle my fingers into his intertwined hands, and he resists at first but lets me hold his hand after a moment. "It's okay, dove. What's going on?"

"Do you remember," he keeps his gaze away from me, "when we first went cloud watching?"

I furrow my eyebrows at him, cocking my head to the side. "Uh, of course I do. We went on a picnic after you had a hard case."

"Do you remember the case?" He asks next like he’s trying to draw out his questions to avoid what he really needs to tell me, and his grip on my hand gets tighter.

"Vaguely," I murmur. "You had to go on a date with a hitwoman and pose as a married man who wanted to kill his pregnant wife. What does that have to do with this? I thought she was in prison, Spence."

"She is," Spencer starts to nod continuously and breaks one of his hands away to rub up and down my arm, a stiff attempt at comfort. "She orchestrated this from prison. Scratch was never involved apparently. She had an accomplice in the free world who did all her dirty work for her, but she ultimately called all the shots. It was her, Amelia," he sighs, and when his hand stops moving, I hear him sniffle. "When the team went to that house just before, they found a message from Cat, she's the hitwoman. She said that if I want my mom back, then I have to go and talk to her."

My eyes widen at his words, and I'm utterly stunned. "What?"

"Me and JJ are leaving in ten minutes. I just came to say goodbye to you, and to tell you I'll be back in a few hours," Spencer never meets my eye. He hasn't this whole time and I don't know if I prefer it that way.

"No!" I exclaim, ripping my hand away from his. The action stuns him and he reaches for me as I pull away, but I'm already standing. "You have to go back to prison? Absolutely not! You just spent three months locked up and going through hell! Send someone else! There's a whole team in that room that's just as smart as you and they can deal with her. I'm not letting you go waltzing right back into prison!"

I turn on my heel and go bounding towards the conference room, but I feel Spencer hot on my heels. He grabs my arm before I can get too far, holding me back. "I know you're upset about this and it's not ideal, but I have to do this to get my mom back."

I turn to him, my eyes filled with tears that I refuse to let fall. "Send someone else." I hiss through my clenched teeth.

"We can't," Spencer responds, and when I try to get out of his grasp, he holds me tighter. "It has to be me. She wants to play her stupid game. I've outsmarted her before and I can do it again--"

"I know you can outsmart her!" I exclaim, pushing his chest, sending him stumbling back a few steps. Our yelling brings the team out of the conference room to check on us but they don't intervene. They just watch us standing on the ramp. They watch me break down for the millionth time.

Spencer groans, running his hands through his unruly hair. "Lia, I--"

"I know you can outsmart her, Spencer!" I shout, hot tears streaming down my cheeks and down my neck, wetting the collar of my tank top. "That's not what I'm worried about! I know that you're smart enough to outsmart every goddamn serial killer that gets on your radar. I've known that since the moment I met you. But I don't--" I choke my words, bringing my hands up to cover my mouth.

I've admitted my feelings to Jenna and to Penelope and somewhat to Dave, but I haven't gotten the chance to speak to Spencer. I haven't been able to tell him how I spent every single moment of his incarceration in fear for his life. Now, I know he had it worse because he was actually experiencing it, but I was in the dark. I couldn't see him and I couldn't talk to him. I was only getting secondhand information from a team of profilers who could have lied to me with ease.

"I can't-" I drop my hands and breathe in a long breath, but it doesn't do anything to slow my rapidly beating heart. "I've spent three fucking months walking around and not being able to see you. I spent three months crying and screaming and cursing the universe for putting you through such intense pain that you don't deserve, because you deserve the motherfucking world, Spencer! And now you just wanna go right back to prison and face some psycho who landed you in a place that had you beat and broken and taken away from me. So I'm sorry that I don't want you to go," I pause again, just staring at Spencer's face. He's giving me a blank face that I can't entirely read. He's never looked at me like this. "I'm sorry that I don't want you to go back to a place that has clearly traumatized you and I'm sorry that I just want to have you here, in my arms so I can hold you and promise you that everything is going to be okay. I'm sorry, okay?"

I push past Spencer and go running off, furiously wiping at my cheeks, but it's a useless attempt. The tears won't stop and I know that. My monologue was also another useless attempt and I know that too. Spencer is going to do absolutely anything in his power to get his mother back. And if that means going to see a serial killer in prison who's clearly obsessed with him, then he'll do it. He's always been that selfless and I used to admire that. But right now I just wish he would listen to me for once.

I throw myself into one of the interview rooms and curl up on the couch, sobbing into my hands. I've just gotten my Spencer back and now he's leaving me to go back to prison. He's getting taken away from me yet again and, after three months of psychological torture, he needs to outsmart a serial killer to save his mother. Can he handle that? He could barely handle asking me to hold his hand in the car. Can he handle a criminally sophisticated serial killer?

The door opens slowly and quietly and then I hear the sounds of Spencer's shoes again. They're dense and heavier than I remember them to be a few months ago. I'm covering my eyes with my hands but I hear him sit down beside the couch I'm on and then his hand reaches out to push my hair behind my ears. My curls bounce back into my face and it makes Spencer chuckle, and that simple sound makes my heart flutter. I want to hear his full-fledged, loud, obnoxious, unhinged, head-tossed-back laugh. I'd do anything to hear that.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, pushing my hair back again and holding his hand on the back of my head. "I know you're unhappy, and I know you're upset and worried and panicked and that you missed me. And I--" he scoots closer to the couch, resting his chin against the cushion, his face right in front of my covered one, "I don't want any of this to be happening either. I wanna go home and finally sleep, and eat something good, and just hold you and-- and cry out my emotions. But I can't do that. I need to do everything I can to save my mom right now. JJ is going to the prison with me and she's gonna make sure everything goes smoothly."

I drag my hands down my face, revealing my tear-stained face to him. Spencer gives me a sad smile, using his free hand to wipe my tears. "Baby?" I whisper.

He hums softly in response, and for a moment, the old him starts to shine through. His tender touch and his soft smile remind me of the person he was. It reminds me of the times we would lay on the couch at night, tangled in a blanket as we eat take-out. Or the times we sit on a freezing cold balcony and shares stories of our days. Or the times we would meet every morning at the same cafe and I could send him off to work with a kiss and a pinky promise to return home safely. This moment gives me just a little bit of hope that the old him is still in him, and that it's just buried deep down.

"Are you gonna be allowed to have your phone?" I murmur, and Spencer nods a tiny bit in response. "Will you just-- can you call me if you need me? I'll keep my phone on me with the ringer on. I know you'll be busy but if you need me, just call me. Even if you just wanna hear my voice, don't hesitate."

Spencer smiles, and I swear, it's the most beautiful sight I've seen in my life. "Of course. I'll always need you, sweetheart."

I grab the hand that's on my face and bring his knuckles to my lips. "I love you so, so much, okay? You got this, dove."

Spencer moves our hands and presses his lips to mine in a gentle kiss. "I love you too. I'm gonna be back as soon as I possibly can be. But, uh, before I leave, can you just do one more thing for me?"

I sit up and look down at him on his knees, running my fingers over his jawline. "Anything."

Spencer reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a thin, black sharpie. "It's a weird request, I know. But, that tattoo on your hand, could you draw it on me?"

I raise my eyebrows, glancing down at my hand, a small smile playing on my lips. "Seriously?" He nods, thrusting the sharpie in my hand. "Sure, of course. I wouldn't imagine you want it on your hand, where I have it. On your arm? Just on your forearm?" I gesture to my Starry Night tattoo right under the crook of my elbow, for a reference of placement. Spencer starts to push up his jacket and sleeve, leaving me room to draw an identical symbol to the one on my hand. "Spence, you won't even be able to see it."

"I know," he mumbles, watching me draw the little N, "but you can't see the butterfly on the back of your arm. But you know it's there and it makes you think of your mom. I know this is here and it'll make me think of you."

I cap the sharpie and toss it aside, smiling at him. "Be safe, Spencer," I grab his cheeks again, stroking his skin with my thumbs. "You're smarter than her, you know you are. I meant what I said before. You can outsmart every single serial killer out there and you've already outsmarted this one. You can do it again."

He searches my face for something, but I can't quite tell for what. He reaches for my waist, squeezing tightly. Spencer takes in a long breath and closes his eyes. "Please tell me you love me," he whimpers.

"Oh, my darling," I lean forward and rest my forehead against his, closing my eyes too, sinking onto his lap so our bodies can be as close as possible, "Spencer Reid, I love you with every fiber of my being. I love you more than I love myself. My heart beats for you, Spencer. Please, don't ever forget that. I love you and I'll say it until I'm blue in the face. It'll be the first thing I tell you in the morning and the last thing I tell you at night. I just-- I love you."

Spencer doesn't even respond to my second, yet equally dramatic, monologue of the day, but he just presses his lips to mine. The kiss is the fervent and needy we've shared, but that's what we need right now. This is how I would have kissed Spencer if I had the chance to kiss him goodbye before he went away to prison, and even though I know he's going to come back to me, I have so much time to make up for and I need to start now.

"Say it back," I murmur against his lips, turning my head and kissing him again. "Say it back and promise me that you're gonna come back to me in one piece,"

Spencer wraps his arms as tight as he can around my waist and draws me even closer to his body. "I'm gonna come home to you, just like I am right now, I promise," he presses one more long kiss to my lips before pulling away breathlessly. "I love you."

///

"Amelia," Penelope comes bursting into the interview room I never left, a smile on her face, "Spencer and JJ are on their way up."

I jump to my feet, following her out, walking beside her to the elevator. "Is Diana okay?" I ask quickly, pausing beside her when we reach the doors.

"Yeah, Diana is, you know, physically okay. The team got there and we did our magic and Lindsay betrayed Cat and gave up Diana and the team is on their way back with her now," Penelope throws her arms around me, weeping with joy. "Amelia, it's all over. Diana is safe, Spencer is home, everyone is good. It's over."

I sigh into her shoulder, smiling. "Yeah, it's over."

"Whoa, I wanna join in this hug!" We hear JJ's voice from the elevator, and in just a second, she's joined our hug and thrown her arms around the two of us. We laugh, hugging her waist and accepting her into our circle. "Oh, I love you girls. And I can't wait for when things settle down and we can get Tara and Emily and Lisa and Monica and all go out for a girls night. But for now, Amelia, go get him."

I lift my head and I immediately lay eyes on Spencer. He's sitting on the floor beside the glass doors of the bullpen, knees pulled up to his chest and his sobriety medallion in his hand. I give a smile to the girls and unravel from them, heading over to my solemn boyfriend.

I sit on the floor between his bent legs and cross my own legs, grabbing his free hand and intertwining our fingers. He barely even responds to my touch and he just keeps his eyes on the floor. I reach forward and tuck my fingers under his chin, lifting his gaze until it reaches mine. His eyes look dull and he's truly never looked more exhausted. I thought he looked utterly exhausted when he got out of prison this morning, but now it's the middle of the night and he's been working and stressed all day, and the exhaustion is settling in.

His eyes meet mine and I try to give him a smile. "I'm proud of you," I tell him. "I knew you could do it. You saved your mom."

Spencer just stares at me for a moment before he looks down again, and when he shifts his body a bit, my hand falls from his chin. "It was really hard," he whispers. "She was working with one of the correctional officers at my prison, and he managed to get my FBI file with confidential information in it."

"I'm sorry," I whisper back, placing my hands on his knees. "I'm sure that--"

"And she brought you up," he blurts out. "You're in my file because we've been together for an extended time so you’re required to be in there for protection purposes and she brought up your name and I just-- I like, I freaked out. She spoke so horribly about you. She said terrible things about you to throw me off but she doesn't even know you! How could she say those things?" He rambles on, getting more and more worked up.

"Sweetheart," I keep my voice quiet and calm, "you just said it yourself. She was saying it to throw you off. She doesn't know me. She knows absolutely nothing about me. You surely don't think I'm horrible and terrible and that's all that matters. So ignore what she thinks, okay? She's a psychopath."

Spencer looks up at me with red eyes. "She's pregnant." He states a bit too abruptly. "She told me the baby was mine to try to get me to break.”

My eyes widen. "Excuse me?"

"And she tried to tell me that when Lindsay dosed me in Mexico, that Lindsay, you know--" Spencer gulps, "got my DNA. And Cat tried to tell me that she had Lindsay pose as you to get me in the mood."

"But that's not true. That didn't happen," I shake my head, moving closer to him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. Spencer buries his face in my neck, hugging my waist.

"But I have no way of knowing that. I'm still missing time. She still might have tried to do that. Lindsay might have posed as you," Spencer whimpers and that's a sound that will always break my heart.

"Spencer, listen to me," I pull away again and hold his face in my hands with a delicate grasp. "Cat's ass is still in prison. Lindsay's ass is on her way to life in prison. You're out of prison and you're going to be able to live the rest of your life as a free man. And you saved your moms life and you're about to see her. Those women are out of your life forever, okay? I know it's really hard, but you should try to not even think about them," a small smirk comes to my face. "The only woman you should be thinking about is me."

Spencer chuckles lightly, shaking his head. "You're incredible."

I hold my hands out in a shrug, grinning. "Which is why I should be the only woman you have on your mind. And also the only woman you're having babies with. Spence, we'd have the cutest babies."

He laughs again and lets his head fall back against the wall, staring me up and down. "We would have some cute kids, wouldn't we?"

"The absolute cutest! Genius babies who can read eighty thousand books a day while painting a landscape with their right hand and drawing a bowl of fruit with their left hand. And they--"

"They're here!" Penelope exclaims, running out of the bullpen and waving her phone in the air. "Emily just said they parked and they're coming for the elevator!"

Spencer jumps up to his feet without a second thought or hesitation, and with a second thought, he holds out his hand to help me off the floor. And I keep my hold on that hand, squeezing tightly. JJ and Penelope move to either side of us, and when the elevator doors pop open, I feel Spencer's body tense up.

It's obvious that as Diana steps out of the elevator, she doesn't recognize Spencer. She doesn't recognize any of us, even though JJ has visited her many times and I've visited Diana countless times over the years I've been dating Spencer. And so I squeeze his hand tighter but I know that this is not how he wanted this to go. He wanted to just hug his mom and get the physical affection that he didn't really get as a kid. But she isn't lunging at him and now he's starting to tremble in my embrace.

Emily leans over to Diana and whispers, "It's Spencer," and that's all it takes. Diana looks once more at her son before gasping and the moment she does, Spencer releases my hand and throws his arms around her.

It's the most relieved I've seen him since before this entire ordeal, and I can confidently say it's also the most relieved I've been. I see Spencer smile over Diana's shoulder, his eyelids squeezed shut. "Hi, Mom."

The team starts to disperse to give them their space and to relax after the ridiculously long day. I give everyone tight hugs, thanking them for all their hard work and giving half-assed apologies for how horrible I was acting towards them. I know that no apology will excuse how I acted while Spencer was incarcerated, but I have to try, right?

"Amelia," after a while, Diana comes to give me a hug, letting Spencer breathe for just a split second. "It's good to see you, honey."

"It's good to see you too," I hug her waist. "How are you feeling? Is there anything you need?"

Diana glances between the two of us, shaking her head slowly. "I'm just-- I'm tired,"

"Okay, Mom, well, why don't I get you back to my apartment so you can rest?" Spencer suggests, reaching to wrap his arm around her waist to support her weight.

Diana gives me a side-eye and I return her look. "Actually," she says, putting her hand on his shoulder, halting him from walking her towards the elevator, "Amelia and I had something we wanted to talk to you about."

Spencer narrows his eyes at me and when I wave the two along to one of the interview rooms, he doesn't put up a fight. Maybe he's too tired by now, or maybe he's genuinely interested in what we could possibly have to say. But either way, he ushers his mom onto a couch and then stands a few feet away as I fall into an armchair. He glances between the two of us, then crosses his arms protectively over his chest. "What's this about?"

Diana immediately looks to me to explain, clutching the cardigan around her shoulders. "Okay," I breathe out, turning my head to my confused and concerned boyfriend, "it's no secret that a lot of people, me included, were not fond of Diana living at home with you. So while you were away, I spent some time looking at facilities around here that would take Diana in, and there's one that's ten minutes away from here. I called them when you were working and they said that they would be happy to let Diana move in tonight."

"Spencer," Diana reaches for Spencer's hands and he happily gives them to her, "this is going to be good. I've always wanted to be close to you. This way, you can visit me more often and you don't have to spend money on flights and hotels. Maybe I can get out to see one of Amelia's art exhibits. I don't want any more experimental medicine, honey. I wanna be close to you and to be comfortable and to be happy."

Spencer pouts and he starts to tap his foot on the floor. He's nervous, and rightfully so. He's about to give his mom up again, right after she was abducted by a serial killer team. He looks from his mom to me, then back to his mom, and then to me again. "Did you go to the facility?"

"Yes, sweetheart. Me, Diana, and Cassie went a while ago and we all liked it," I tell him. "She'll be a ten minute drive and a six minute train ride away instead of a five hour plane ride. You can see her every single day if you wanted to."

"And," Diana grins, glancing between us, "when you two get married and have babies, I'll be right here to help you with it."

Spencer lets out a shaky breath, nodding his head hesitantly. "Okay. Let's go."

///

Spencer and I wave goodbye at Diana and then go heading off to my car, hopping in and I start the ignition. I let out a loud yawn, covering my mouth as I buckle my seatbelt. I feel Spencer's hand in my hair and it makes me smile, and as the ridiculously long day comes to a close, I find myself more and more excited to crawl into bed. And then upon further thought, I get even more excited to crawl into bed with Spencer at my side.

"Do you want me to drive?" Spencer asks, dragging his hand to my jawline. "You look exhausted."

"Oh, you should see yourself, bub," I quip, turning on my headlights. "I'll be fine. It's just a ten minute drive back home."

"Hey, wait," Spencer says, reaching for my hand on the wheel. I turn my head to him, smiling tiredly. "Um," he returns my tired smile, "I just wanted to say thank you for doing this. For, you know, finding a facility for my mom. It means a lot to me to know that you care so much about her."

"She's your mom, Spencer. Of course I care about her. I just wanted to help out and make everyone's lives easier," I shrug gently.

"And also," Spencer drops his voice to a whisper and looks down at his voice, "I wanted to thank you for not abandoning me. I don't-- well, I don't have a lot of people in my life and people have a habit of leaving me after they've been around me for a while. But you've stuck with me through the craziness with my mom and through my arrest and through prison when I'm sure there's plenty of guys who are banging down your door and you could--"

"Oh god," I grimace at the thought. "Dr. Reid, I don't wanna be with anyone else but you. I thought I made that clear before. Remember? Sitting in the hallway? We're getting married and having babies, remember? You're my first and only boyfriend and I don't want any other asshole guy who's gonna swoop in and think they're a Know It All. Why would I want a fake Know It All when I have the read deal Know It All right here?"

Spencer chuckles and he turns his hand to intertwine our fingers. "Thank you for waiting for me. And thank you for even coming to the prison. JJ said you were a bit too scared to come in so I appreciate you coming at all."

I choose not to comment about that. It's not the time to talk about this. It's not the time and not the place. We're exhausted and Spencer is fragile and while he needs to eventually talk to someone about his time in prison, it probably shouldn't be me and it probably shouldn't be at 3 am in a parking lot.

"I'll always be waiting for you," I smile in an attempt to move on from that topic of conversation, and when my phone buzzes in my pocket, I quickly pull it out to find Penelope calling me. I just miss the call and see that she already called me three times. "Oh, that's weird."

"Call her back," Spencer says, leaning over my shoulder. "And put it on speaker."

I dial Penelope's number and put my phone on speaker. She picks up after only half a dial tone. "Thank god!" She exclaims. "I feel like I've been calling you for my entire life!"

"My phone was in my pocket, sorry. What's up? Is everything okay?"

"No!" She shouts, and just her sharp tone of voice makes me panicky. "Are you with Reid?"

"I'm right here. On speaker. Garcia, what's going on? Is the team okay? Is it Lindsay or Cat?"

Penelope goes on the explain how Morgan got a text from Penelope about a safe house Spencer was supposed to stay at. It was all completely fake and due to Penelope's super skills, she figured out that her phone number was duplicated by none other than Mr. Scratch himself.

"The team drove out there but it was a trap!"

"Scratch's traps have traps, Garcia, we know that. They should've been prepared. Are they okay?" Spencer's voice gets louder as he gets more nervous.

"Not really. The house wasn't rigged. The street on the way was. There were road spikes and he was watching for when they came. And after they hit the spikes, a truck came and hit them. They all have to go to the hospital. Luke is okay and he's driving me to the hospital right now, and Matt Simmons is here too. But Tara's in shock, Rossi hurt his leg, JJ has glass in her forehead, Emily dislocated her shoulder, and Stephen is-- he's--"

Spencer and I exchange a downcast look as we understand what she can't say. Stephen is dead and it's all Scratch's fault. This man has been terrorizing this team for years and now he's killed a member of their team.

"Okay, Penelope," Spencer murmurs, "we're on our way to the hospital now. Keep us updated." Despite the fact that my phone is in my hand, Spencer hangs it up. He takes it from me and places it into the cup holder, then replaces my phone with his hand. "Amelia," he whispers, "do you want me to drive?"

Silently, I nod. I climb out of the driver’s side and practically waddle to the passenger side, sinking into the seat that Spencer was just in. He starts the engine and drives off, calmer and gentler than I had imagined he would be.

"I'm sorry," Spencer eventually breaks the thick silence, glancing over at me. "I know you liked Stephen and I'm sure you guys got really close the last few months."

My head slowly swivels to him, and I find that, as he should be, he's not looking at me. His eyes are locked on the road and focusing extra hard since it's the middle of the night. But I'd rather have it that way right now. "I'm--" I hesitate before I speak, but I know that now I've opened my mouth, I've sealed my fate, "I'm a horrible person."

I see Spencer furrow his eyebrows. "Huh?"

"I'm a bad person, Spencer, because I'm only kinda upset that Stephen is dead. I'm upset because--" I hiccup, my eyes widening as I try to speak. "Every time I see a dead cop or a dead agent, all I think about is how that could've been you. That dead agent could've been my boyfriend, dead in the field and I'd have to be the one called in to identify his body. I can't imagine how Monica and her kids are going to feel but I just always think about how I'd feel if I was woken up by that call that you were killed in the field.”

"You won't," Spencer answers with a stubborn shake of his head. "I'm careful in the field. I don't want you to worry about me, Lia. I’m gonna be fine.”

///

I can't remember spending much time in emergency rooms. But in the time that I have, they were never this chaotic. There are people everywhere and I'm surprised it's this busy on a Wednesday-into-Thursday at 4 am. But Spencer grabs my hand and takes charge, marching right up to a doctor and demanding he knows where the Behavioral Analysis Unit agents are. And I have to admit, despite how distressed I am, he looks incredibly sexy taking charge like that. But the doctor answered him and pointed to a certain section for the BAU.

"Amelia," JJ sighs of relief as she sees me, reaching a hand out and I quickly grab it, giving her the support she's looking for, "thank you for coming. I'm sure you're so tired--"

"Shh, shh, stop, don't worry about me," I coo, taking on her usual role of the mother figure. "Are you okay? Do you need anything?"

"Um," a few tears fall down her cheeks and she quickly wipes them away, "I haven't called Will yet and--"

"I did that in the car on the way over here, don't worry. He's on his way over," I tell her, fixing the wrapping on her ice pack so it isn't falling off anymore. JJ nods, relieved, and relaxes more into my touch. "Me and Spencer are both here so if you need anything, you just ask either of us, okay? Don't hesitate."

JJ nods, wrapping her free arm around my waist to give me an awkward side hug. "Thank you so much. Go check on everyone else. Emily is right over there and Rossi is refusing treatment, I think."

"Okay, I'll check on you later," I give her one more smile before heading off towards Emily's gurney. She's laying down and her shoulder is covered by a pile of dressings and her face is full of little cuts and bruises. Her eyes widen when she sees me and she reaches her uninjured arm for me. "Hi, Em. Do you need anything? Are you okay?"

"Amelia," Emily chokes out, and just from the way she speaks, I can see that she's in an intense amount of pain. "You should--" she hisses in pain, "should take Reid and go home. He deserves to go home and so do you. You're both exhausted and just got out of prison and you're--"

"We're here to help, Emily. We're not going anywhere until we know you guys are okay," I adjust the ice pack that's on her head and her eyelids flutter, and as badly as I do wish I could take Spencer home, I know that we need to be here to help everyone.

"Go help Rossi. He's being a little bitch about this," Emily responds, making me laugh. "I've got more balls than him. I'm fine. Go."

I laugh at Emily, shaking my head at her stubbornness, but nod nonetheless. I turn on my heel and start to head towards Rossi's little room but before I can get there, I run right into Spencer and Luke.

"Is Dave okay?" I ask, glancing between the two men who tower over me. "JJ and Emily are beat up but they're pushing through."

"Rossi needs us to go back to the BAU to get something for him," Luke says, holding up his car keys. "Me and Reid are heading back now."

My head snaps over to Spencer, eyes widened. Of course, I should have expected this. Why did I think that we would just show up here to help Spencer's teammates and not expect him to get roped into some kind of work? It was a stupid expectation, to be honest. Almost the entire team is down and Scratch is clearly very close to them. They need all hands on deck.

I just nod slowly, letting out a sigh. "Okay. Just be careful, please. Be really, really careful."

"We will be," Spencer nods back at me. He turns to leave, but before he can leave, I grab his wrist. "Amelia," he swivels his head, "we need to go."

"Just," I hold out my pinky, "humor me."

Spencer smiles softly, wrapping his pinky around mine. "We're just going back to the BAU. We're gonna be fine."

"Please let me know when you get there. And if you leave the building," I squeeze his pinky in mine before releasing him completely, waving him away with Luke. And so, I'm left with four injured FBI agents after an attack from an escaped serial killer, and a boyfriend who clearly has PTSD and hasn't slept or eaten in almost two days. I sigh, turning to look in Dave's room, then at JJ and Emily. "Great. Just great."

///

"Will just got here?" Emily asks, adjusting the strap of her sling, her arm now popped into its socket.

"Yeah, he's with JJ now. I think they said they were gonna--" I'm cut off when my phone starts ringing in my pocket. How is this thing not dead yet? I see that Penelope is calling and I swear, for a moment, I don't even want to pick up. She never has anything good to say. "Hi, P. How's it going?"

"H--Hi," she stumbles over her words, sounding a bit distant. "So, um, I'm at the BAU with Matt Simmons and Spencer is here too and Luke went to get Monica, but, um, I think you should come here."

Emily can hear my phone and she gives me a confused look, which I immediately return to her. "Why? Is Spencer okay?"

"He's just--" Penelope pauses. "We all got to work when we got back and he took on a lot of work and then he kicked me and Matt out of the conference room so he could be alone because he said he couldn't focus and he's just getting really frustrated and he looks so angry and-- Amelia, I feel like you're the only one who can bring him down to Earth."

Emily nods in agreement, gesturing towards the door as if to tell me to go. I feel bad leaving the team in the hospital without anyone to help them, someone who's not a nurse, but Spencer is my main priority right now. So I tell Penelope that I'll be there as soon as possible and go rushing out of the hospital and out to my car for the millionth time today.

///

The elevator doors open and the first thing I notice is how quiet the sixth floor seems. I'm so used to it bustling with people who have agendas and schedules and meetings. But now it's the middle of the night and everyone is home resting, where I wish I could be with my boyfriend.

I pull open the glass doors and find Penelope working on a desk with a man beside her, someone I've never seen before. She looks up when I enter, sighing a breath of relief. "Thank god you're here," she gestures towards the conference room where Spencer is furiously pacing and is clearly talking to himself, waving his hands back and forth. "He's only gotten more worked up since I called you."

"You're Amelia?" the man steps forward, holding his hand out. "I'm Matt Simmons."

"Yeah, Amelia," I nod, shaking his hand politely with a tight smile. "I'm Spencer's girlfriend. I believe I've heard him mention in the past before actually. You have four kids, right? Bless your--"

I'm completely cut off by a loud banging, and the three of us look up in time to see Spencer hurling a book at the glass panel in the conference room. There isn't even a moment of hesitation before we're rushing towards him, pushing open the door and approaching him.

"B-CAP," Spencer states, his hands digging into his eyes. He starts rattling off something about what this plant is, where it's from, and how to find it. Matt responds and Spencer nods, and there's no chance I'll understand what they're talking about, but that's not my main focus. Spencer drops his hands from his eyes and then glances between the three of us. "Why are you staring at me?"

"You," Penelope whispers, "you throw a book at a window. It was jarring."

"Yeah, well," Spencer scoffs, turning his back to us, "it took me thirty minutes to deduce what should have taken me thirty seconds. And if Scratch gets away and more people die because of it, then I'll be throwing a lot more than books," He leans his hands against the conference table and hangs his head, taking labored breaths.

I quickly usher Penelope and Matt out of the room, closing the door behind them. Penelope gives me a concerned look over her shoulder but I just give her a smile in return. Nothing can provide comfort right now, but I'm really trying.

Spencer hasn't moved when I turn back to him so I creep forward and reach for his waist. The moment my fingers make contact with his body, he completely jumps out of his skin and cowers away from me, as if he hadn't even realized it was me touching him.

I retract my hands as he backs away from me, holding them up in the air so he can see there's no foul play going on. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I apologize quickly. "I just-- I just wanted to help. I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd--"

"I can't let him get away!" Spencer is shouting again, waving his hands around frantically. "He's been getting away for too long! He's so close and I can let him--"

"Dove, I know it's hard," I step closer to him and when he doesn't cower away again, I move closer again. "I know you wanna catch Scratch and you absolutely will. But you need to rest. You haven't slept in who knows how long, you haven't eaten, you haven't showered, you haven't changed your clothes. You--" I let out a breath and just gently hold my hands out to him in the hopes that he'll grab them, and when he doesn't, I keep them there as a silent, continuous invitation, "you're a little burnt out, Spence. I know you wanna work and that you wanna help your team, and I admire you for that, but--"

"Rossi reinstated me," he tells me stubbornly, a switch flipping him back to seriousness and away from fear as he walks back over to the whiteboard. "In the hospital, he said I'm fully reinstated for right now and that I need to help out. I'm doing what he asked."

"Spencer," I snap, crossing my arms over my chest, "Rossi was fucking delirious. JJ told me that he told you to get tickets for a baseball game."

"It was code," Spencer retorts, picking up the book from the floor like it wasn’t the object he took his aggression out on and starting to read. "I'm not stopping."

"Fine," I give up, marching over to him, taking the book out of his hands and putting it aside, "keep working then, but I'm not leaving."

Spencer's face solidifies and he gets serious again. "You should leave. You haven't slept or eaten either and--"

"I'm not leaving until you leave. So I'm gonna get on this fucking table and go to sleep and you can join me if you'd like. But I'm not leaving you, Spencer, I told you that. I'm not abandoning you," and with that, I strip off my coat and climb on top of the conference room table, balling up the coat like a pillow and laying down. And with the crazy events of the day, I fall asleep right away, despite being on a table and despite having my unhinged boyfriend in the same room.

When I eventually wake up again, I'm in a different room. I'm not laying on a hard table but instead, I'm in an interview room on a couch. It takes me a moment to get used to my surroundings, but when I do I realize that I'm covered by Spencer's suit jacket and that my hand is clutching his sobriety medallion.

His absence quickly dawns on me and I gasp, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. I search for my phone to check the time and realize it's not on me so I stumble out of the interview room and towards Penelope's office. But before I can even get there, I find her wandering towards the elevators with her heels in her hand and her phones in her other.

"Amelia! You're awake!" She exclaims, grinning. "Come! The team is just coming up."

"What did I miss? What happened? Where's Spencer?" I ramble on tiredly as she drags me away.

"We got a hit on where Scratch was. Spencer, Luke, Matt, Emily, and JJ all went to the warehouse that he was at. They're coming back," she says as we pause in front of the elevators.

"Did they get Scratch?" It wasn't a necessary question. Penelope would have led with that information if it were true. I knew they wouldn't have captured Scratch. It's too easy. She doesn't answer.

The elevator doors open and the team files out in their kevlars with their guns on their hips, and Spencer comes out last. He gives me a tiny smile, his hands tucked in his pockets. He doesn't even make an effort to hug me when he approaches me, just stands close enough that I can feel his breath on me.

"Don't you ever," I sneer, pointing my finger at him, "leave to chase a serial killer without telling me. Don't you ever do that again."

Spencer nods shamefully, chewing his bottom lip. "You were so tired that I thought I could get there and back without you waking up. I almost did."

I breathe in a long breath, shaking my head. "You were close. I woke up two minutes ago," Spencer nods in response, staring down at the floor. Everyone is walking away now, discarding their vests and guns and reaching for their car keys. "Can--" I gulp, "can I hug you?"

Spencer nods and pulls his hands out of his pockets, sliding them around my back and pulling my body flush against his. I hug his waist tight, and despite the harsh lines of the kevlar, I melt into his embrace and close my eyes. Spencer rests his head on the top of mine, starting to hiccup as tears stream down his cheeks. "Amelia?"

"Yes, my dove?" I quip in response.

"Can you bring me home now?"

I let out a breath. A breath that releases all the bad energy and all the horrible events of the past few months. Because even though Scratch has escaped, the BAU will catch him, there's no doubt of that. But my Spencer is coming home finally, and he's here to stay.

"It would be my absolute pleasure."

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