#some people turn out like vincent. and then others like hotch. n i think that fact right there broke vincent up cuz he never thought abt it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

letarasstuff · 3 years

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Where do you go?

(A/N): This is requested by an anon and based on this post.

Summary: How does Hotch’s daughter, who everyone goes to with their own problems, cope with her mother’s death two years later?

Warnings: Angst. Grief. Dealing with a loved one’s death

Wordcount: 2.2k

✨Masterlist✨ _____________________________

“Hey (Y/N), I really need your help with Tim. Do you have a minute for me?” (Y/N) turns around to see a boy from her science class. It’s not like she knows him that much, they occasionally team up for small projects, there is nothing more behind that.

“Uh of course. I just had my last class, so I got time for you.” She smiles and lets him, Vincent is his name she thinks, rant to her about how his boyfriend doesn’t understand his needs.

This is nothing out of the ordinary for her, to be asked for advice. She simply is a good listener and gives good tips, the best even according to people close to the teenager. The problem is her limited knowledge on relationships. “Coaches don’t play”, Hotch tells her. And he intends on keeping it that way.

“That does really suck. Did you try to talk to him about it?” (Y/N) asks the boy in front of her. Suddenly he bursts into tears, describing how he only sees breaking up as a solution. She awkwardly pats his back and says encouraging words to him. That he will make the right decision, that he shouldn’t rush it and that he has to take his time.

After Vincent, or is it Gordon, calms down he looks up at the girl. “Thank you for listening. You were a great help, (Y/N).” He hugs her and leaves.

As she looks over the parking lot she spots her father’s car. Excitedly (Y/N) walks over and gets onto the passenger seat. “Hey, I didn’t know you pick me up today”, she greets him.

“We finished the case early and I was on the way home and thought giving you a lift wouldn’t hurt. Who was that boy? Is there something I should know?” Hotch looks at her from the side. But his daughter shakes her head. “Don’t worry, he is gay. He just needed a shoulder to cry on about his ruined relationship.”

“You do know you are not the school’s therapist, don’t you? At this point your classmates should pay you.” He tries to joke about it, but as a father he is worried. Since Haley died, (Y/N) took it upon her to make sure everybody is happy, no matter at what costs.

“I know, Dad. I’m fine and Alex feels better.”

A few days later (Y/N) sits in JJ’s living room, watching the mother go from one place to the next. “Food is in the fridge, so help yourself. Henry’s bedtime is in half an hour, please make sure he goes to sleep by then. He should be easy to put down, Will made sure to tire him out earlier. All important numbers are on the fridge. Feel free to watch anything on the TV.”

The teenager volunteered to babysit Henry, giving his parents a child free evening. “Thank you, JJ. We will rock this, don’t we?” She looks down to the boy on her lap, who nods his head.

“Good. Behave for (Y/N), ok?” The mother gives her son a kiss on the head. After Will’s goodbye the couple is gone.

“Ok, how about we get real comfy on your bed and I read you a story?” Henry nods again. He takes (Y/N) by her hand to his room. As suggested they lay down on his bed.

“Which one do you want me to read to you?” But the boy looks unsure all of a sudden. “Can we just talk?” Surprised the teenager nods. “Whatever you like, champ.”

“Uh okay, do you know Mommy is a bit… much? She is like there and the next second she is here and then she isn’t here for days. I- this is sooo annoying”, Henry rants to her. He is only three, so it is kept rather simple.

“Oh man, she must be a handful, champ. But you have to keep in mind that she really loves you and in the end this is the only thing that matters. Do you love her, too?” It hurts her to talk about a mother’s love, since her own passed away over two years ago. (Y/N) still misses her. She is sure it will never go away.

“Of course I love her.” Sleepily Henry cuddles closer to (Y/N), holding his plush toy near him. After that, he falls asleep safe and sound. The teenager waits for a bit, watching him scrunching up his nose every few minutes.

The next day at the BAU a knock is heard on the Unit Chief’s door. “Come in!”

“Hey Dad, I thought a little visit wont hurt”, the daughter enters the room. Automatically a smile appears on Hotch’s face. “Also, I thought a little help from Spencer wont hurt, too”, she adds with a laugh. “Last time I checked he was in Garcia’s lair. You might have a shot finding him there”, he tips her off.

“Thank you Dad, you are the best!” Not long after this she steps into the Technical Analyst’s office and is immediately greeted by the preppy woman being anything but preppy.

“What in heaven’s name do they think I am, do you know it (Y/N)? They want me to work faster and more efficiently and expect me to be all sunshine and rainbows while looking at the most gruesome pictures ever taken on a daily basis! Un-be-lie-va-ble!” The blonde walks back and forth, gesticulating wildly.

The teenager takes her hands in an attempt to calm her down. “Sit down and tell me from the beginning what you are talking about.” This ends in Penelope raging about some superiors for an hour. When she finally calms down, it is like she wakes up. “Oh my, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to load all that up on you. You don’t need that in addition to-” She suddenly cuts herself off.

“I’m fine, really. It’ll be like any other day.” The smile the girl struggles to put on looks pained. “My sweet sweet summer child, the second anniversary of your mother’s death is not like any other day. You are still allowed to grief, you know that, right?” Penelope hugs (Y/N), cradling her close to her chest.

“I know, Penny. Thank you for reminding me. But I have to go, I need Spencer’s help with my chemistry assignment. You know, gotta keep those grades up.” With that she makes a beeline for the bullpen, leaving a stunned Technical Analyst by herself.

Since Foyet Hotch worries about his daughter. He learned many things about her coping mechanisms in the last two years: She tries to do it on her own.

In times like this the similarity between him and (Y/N) frustrates him. Aaron also tends to deal with his emotions alone, in the safe space of his own four walls. With all of his qualifications he knows it’s not healthy and he slowly learns to let his feelings loose around people he trusts, typically his team.

The difference between (Y/N) and Hotch is that he knows when he reaches his breaking point and she doesn’t about hers. So in a situation like right now being a profiler comes in handy with the job as a father.

It’s the day. The second anniversary of a mother’s death.

Hotch already planned the whole day for his two kids. At first he wakes both of them up, a luxus he seldom is able to indulge. But for today he has called into work saying he won't be coming any time before ten.

The mood around the house is suffocating. Even the little boy notices the heaviness of the day and its meaning.

“Are you ready, (Y/N)? I’m gonna drop you and Jack off at school!” Aaron shouts standing at the foot of the stairs. “I’m coming!” The answer is heard faintly.

Not long after this the Hotchner Household is on their way to the youngest’s elementary school. “Behave and remember: If you don’t feel fine it’s okay. Just tell your teachers and they will call me and I will get you, do you understand?” The father looks at his son with a certain seriousness. “Understood”, the blonde boy confirms and gives him a hug.

When he is back onto the driver’s seat, (Y/N) speaks up. “I don’t feel good about letting him to school today. What if he suddenly gets overwhelmed? I don’t think his teachers are able to calm him down.” Hotch gives his daughter a glance from the side. Jack never showed any signs of what she just described.

“They know to call me. I also told him it's all right to let them call me. He is in good hands.” It’s quiet for the next few minutes. “Dad, this is not the way to school”, the teenager tries to alert her father.

“I know. You won’t go today. I called you in sick when you were in the bathroom. I got the day planned, be ready to be surprised.”

The first thing they do is having breakfast in a little niché café. They once visited it regularly with Haley, way long before Jack was born. The two of them sit down at a booth in the corner.

“What can I get you two sweeties?” A waitress asks, her notebook ready in her hands. While the father orders their usuals, (Y/N) lets her eyes wander. So many memories at once crash onto her.

“Do you remember this one waiter, who always got you a hot cup of chocolate for free?” Aaron says after noticing her sad look. The girl begins to smile through the tears forming in her eyes. “Of course. Mom always got nearly a heart attack seeing me down it like it’s juice. I-” Her voice breaks. The tears fall down and make their way over her cheeks.

“It’s ok, you don’t have to say anything. I’m here. For anything you want or need me. Because nobody expects you to be alright, especially on this day.” He takes her hand and looks her in the eyes. (Y/N) nods, leaning against her father’s shoulder. He puts an arm on her, keeping her closer.

“I know. It’s just- It still hurts. So so badly. I feel like she still is here, but that’s just not true and that hurts me more.” Silently Hotch motions the waitress to make the order to go, while rubbing his child’s arm. Because that’s what she still is, a child.

A child that went through much, especially for her age. When (Y/N) calms down a little, they make their way back to the car.

“I thought we are going to the BAU to distract you for a while. But I can call the team and tell them we are going to do a SPA day at home or something. What do you want?”

“Can we go to them? And maybe leave earlier to do face masks at home before picking Jack up?” There is no way the father can say no to her puppy dog eyes. “Of course, Honey. Anything you want.”

As soon as the doors of the elevator open to floor six of the FBI building in Quantico, Penelope Garcia embraces (Y/N) in a big bear hug. “My sweet sweet summer child. You are so strong, I admire you. We are so happy to have you here” she whispers into the teenager's ear. “Thank you, Penny. Thank you so much.”

Over the course of the next few hours (Y/N) visits everyone’s desk. At first she goes into the lair, where mountains of cookies wait for her. Then she sits at Spencer’s desk, listening to cute facts about sloths. But Emily is quick to steal her from the genius, bribing the girl with new pictures of Sergio. Derek takes the teen from there, pushing her through the office on a desk chair with wheels. Her father is able to hear her laughs in his office, which puts a small smile on his face.

After that (Y/N) goes to JJ, who has a drawn picture from Henry for her. “Will had to write ‘best babysitter ever’ for him”, the blonde explains, pointing at the picture. The girl smiles. “Woah, I think you got a little Picasso at home. Tell him I love it.”

Her last stop is Rossi’s office. The older man looks at her with a fond smile. “Do you know that I see so much of your father and mother in you?” Confused, she glances at him.

“You are as stoic as Aaron. You are determined. But you are also caring and loving, like Haley. You are a perfect combination of both of them. Just keep that in your mind.”

As mysterious as this seems, it somehow makes (Y/N) happy. Happy to know a part of her mother is always with her.

Soon the little family departes for their home. Not long after they bid their goodbyes, Penelope receives a picture of the Unit Chief and the teenager with pink glitter masks. The father is willing to do anything to make her smile, even when this means he gets a basket of various masks the next day for teasingly reasons.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #hotch x daughter!reader #aaron hotch x daughter!reader #aaron hotch x teen!reader #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction #bau x reader #bau x teen!reader #x daughter!reader #x teen!reader #x reader #reader insert

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olivinesea · 3 years

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Some People

a/n: I truly have no idea what this is. Big rains and big emotions this weekend I suppose. Here we have Hotch & Vincent Perotta’s infamous conversation broken into three parts, each with it’s own Hotch thought. Some of it is story and some of it is just yours truly going off on some nonsense. There’s talk of/references to abuse but all in the past and while a bit sad (literally cannot stop myself) I think it’s overall rather hopeful. Do lmk what you think please, I’m curious and not opposed to being told I’m crazy. ~4.7k

1. Hotch & Perotta & parallels; 2. Hotch & Haley & differences; 3. Hotch & Emily & promises

You grew up in a household that looked normal and happy, didn’t you Vincent?” “Did I?” “But your father beat you every chance he got.” “He smacked me around some, didn’t everybody’s old man?” “No.”

There was a pause after this denial, the small word sinking into Perotta’s psyche. Hotch didn’t break eye contact as he felt echoes of familiar emotions radiate off the other man. He’d expected this, as he had expected the insulting response. An almost childish taunt meant to cut back, retaliation against the messenger of a truth everyone dreaded hearing: you are not normal, your life has been an oddity, an outlier. No one wants to learn that the shaky lie they’ve built their life on, their entire understanding of themselves, was so easily knocked over.

Hotch remembered when he’d first learned that it was not in fact typical to fear the sound of footsteps in the hallway. That the pain in his chest that was so intense at times he couldn’t move, was not a weak heart but a symptom of anxiety brought on by being unable to predict his father’s actions, his moods flashing one moment to the next, rising and falling with the tides of the liquor cabinet. That not every house was scored nightly by endless yelling and tears. That people found it unusual to seek comfort in the corner of a closet or under a bed, where he could press against the walls, where he could be sure to see anything that was coming at him.

He remembered how angry he felt when he found out. He was angry he had been tricked into thinking this was just life, that any wish for it to be different was only a child’s foolish fantasy, an unrealistic expectation of a broken world. He was angry that he had been taught this was love; that he was on his own to figure out how to unlearn that. He resented that there were people who’s reality had been the opposite of his own. That there were lives that never included threats or withheld meals, people who had never been made to feel guilty over their very existence. That it was possible for people to equate home with safety. It was hard to wrap his mind around, sometimes it was just easier to go back believing everyone lived like his own dysfunctional family. Every time he was reminded otherwise the anger came back anew. He’d spent so many years working out this anger on others. So many years turning it on himself. Until he forgot why he was angry, knew only that it was a part of him.

In that pause Hotch could feel the crack in Perotta’s calculated exterior, the killer’s hesitation allowing a doubt, a confusion into his mind. A maybe. Maybe it wasn’t all inevitable. Maybe there had been choices where it had appeared to be but one option. In this moment he could almost feel sorry for Perotta, learning something this difficult so late in his life. The man was being forced to face the enormity of his false beliefs while chained to a chair in a small interrogation room, no chance to escape, to privately reckon with his ghosts. In this moment, Hotch knew they had saved the missing agent, knew he could get the information he needed as the pieces of this man came apart under that horrible weight of knowledge.

Well maybe if yours had you would have learned how to fight.

He knew how to fight, probably better than Perotta himself, for he had seen both sides. Hotch had faced the fork in the road and made a conscious choice, which was more than the other man had done. Perotta had fallen into his work, twisted by unkind hands until he couldn’t see any other way, until he threw himself wholeheartedly into piling more hurt onto the world he despised. Trying to pay off the debts of his father’s malice by visiting his own violence on others. Hotch knew more, had had more time to see the world for what it was, both its cruelties and its forgiveness. He’d been lucky, he supposed, to have been forced into his own realization of his false reality, as painful as it had been to learn.

The shame had come later, when he was old enough to realize that not only was his family not like the others, but plenty of people knew of their difference. All the things he was made to do to cover up what was happening (it was his fault anyway, wasn’t it?), the contortions he performed to blend in—none of those things ever really did enough to hide it. People knew, they just didn’t want to have to see. His efforts, his mother’s efforts, did just enough to make it so others had plausible deniability, so they could say, convincingly enough, if questioned, I never would have guessed, they were such a nice family, a happy family. Enough that they could tell themselves there wasn’t anything that wrong, nothing that they could do about it anyway, all families had their troubles, right?

The worst part of learning that no, not everyone had to contend with monsters in their homes, was having to accept that the monsters were only people, too. That was the only way out, the only way to not be trapped within the labyrinth of anger and hatred, unable to forgive the world. He’d had to understand that though he had been hurt, been treated in ways no child deserved to be treated, his monsters were only human, only trying to outrun their own monsters. None of it had been set up to specifically hurt him, and likewise, there was nothing special about him that deserved it, no matter how much he’d been told otherwise. Life was being at the mercy of circumstance and no one could choose where they come from, only where they were going. He could have spent forever steeped in rage for what had happened to him, what he had been made to endure, how indifferently the world had treated him when he was defenseless.

But he hadn’t. Instead he’d accepted that kindness could also exist, that people could treat him as well as they had harmed him. He learned that he could be valued, not only for what he could do but for who he was. He chose to follow that, to believe in that even when he faltered, when things happened that made the voice of his father, forever an inescapable piece of him, snarled in his ear once more. He had chosen to believe it when, first Haley, then others, told him they loved him, even when he couldn’t feel it, even when the contrast between their love and the love he had been taught only made everything hurt more. Because of that choice he would win this fight. Because he was tethered by love he could wind his way into the minds of killers like Vincent Perotta, a parallel, an alternate version of himself, and still find his way out again.

“Paranoid personalities develop in childhood.” “You know you’re saving me thousands of dollars in therapy bills?” “You learned to take the beatings, the abuse. You learned to smile. But in the back of your mind you probably thought ‘one day. one day when I’m big enough.’ So you were bullied and abused and you became an abuser and a bully, it’s a logical progression.” “Really?”

Aaron had always had his peculiarities, little habits that made Haley shake her head, smiling to herself over her boyfriend—no, her husband’s—odd but harmless mannerisms. This one she hadn’t learned about until they had moved into their first apartment together. While she marveled over the counter space and the view of the city from the windows, he focused on one thing only. Locks. How many there were, how well they held, how many copies of the keys existed. It was hard for Haley to understand how important a simple lock was, to make sense of all the time that Aaron spent locking doors and testing and locking them again. In a one bedroom apartment, with just the two of them, she could hardly see any reason to even have the bedroom door closed, let alone locked. And yet, every night, for countless minutes, he would test first the front door and then their bedroom. To Haley, a lock was merely a formality, a step in a daily routine no different than packing lunch or greeting a coworker.

But to Aaron a lock was significantly more than its obvious function. A lock was a promise, was an achievement. It was the difference between rest and vigilance. A lock was freedom. As a child, he had never been able to imagine himself the owner of a lock, a person with the agency to close his doors and have them stay that way. Each time the tumblers clicked into place, confirming a separation of him from the unstable outside world, he felt a bubble of tension burst, like the tiny bubbles that rose to the surface of the champagne they’d drunk out of mismatched mugs their first night there. Even better was the deadbolt on their front door, a lock he could feel slide into place, a physical sensation even more satisfying than the click of the bedroom door’s lock. Through a combination of the locks and the thousands of miles from Virginia, Aaron felt like he was finally able to understand what people meant when they used the word relax.

She teased him about it, was occasionally frustrated with him when they found themselves locked out, barred by his over-enthusiastic drive to keep the world away. On those times he’d sheepishly go to the building manager and use his most charming smile to get her to unlock their door, just this one last time, I promise. It was a little embarrassing, earning him some unflattering nicknames from the grouchy manager. But she couldn’t resist how sweet the young couple was, so excited about this new chapter in their lives. And they were certainly busy, both in school and holding jobs. A little forgetfulness on occasion wasn’t a sin and she was only watching reruns of her shows anyway.

One afternoon, exhausted from too much studying, too little sleep he laid down for nap in their room, locking the door merely for the pleasure of it. He hadn’t expected to sleep more than half an hour or so, that was the best he’d been doing at night recently. Haley arrived home with barely a few minutes to change between classes and work, only to find herself barred from their room, from her things. She knocked, amused at first but when there was no response she became annoyed and a little worried (no matter how far they went, she’d never been able to outrun the fear that one day, one day, he’d be gone). She used her fist to pound on the flimsy door, barely more than a couple sheets of plywood really, a silly thing to give a lock when it was probably just as easy to knock in as not.

“Aaron! Come on, I’m going to be late!” She felt harsher words rise to her lips, her frustration and fear getting the better of her. She rattled the door handle again, hopeful that it would give in on its own. It held.

“Goddamnit Aaron!” She kicked the door, an unwise move without shoes, swearing when she stubbed her toe. She was about to call for him again when the door finally opened, Aaron’s eyes red from sleep, pillow creases on his cheek. He saw how upset she was and knew he should apologize but found himself frozen, too disoriented from being woken up by someone cursing his name. He’d been so thoroughly asleep he wasn’t sure where he was, hadn’t been sure who would be on the other side of the door. Logically he knew it was Haley, knew she had never, would never do anything to hurt him. But the fear compressing his lungs wouldn’t bend to logic. So instead of speaking, he just backed up until he was sitting on the bed, watching her cautiously as she entered.

Already pulling her shirt off, she scolded him distractedly. She didn’t mean anything by it, she was just late, just tired and annoyed. This quirk of his having risen to the level of inconvenience once again. She just needed to unload a little of that frustration on the instigator of the whole situation. But as she turned back to him, pulling her long hair out from under the collar of her work shirt, she saw he was no longer looking at her. Instead he stared down at his hands which he’d balled into fists, a failing attempt to stop them from shaking. His shoulders hunched, he’d curled forward into himself, defensive. It had been a long time since she’d seen him look like that. For a moment she was seventeen again, back in her childhood bedroom, watching him after he’d woken up from a nightmare, struggling to keep calm as he fought past the terrors in his mind.

She walked over to him, using up seconds she didn’t have, knowing this was going to make her late but knowing the risk of leaving him like this was worse. She knelt in front of him, saying his name before moving slowly to wrap her hands around his. He shuddered but didn’t pull away. He said something she couldn’t understand, his voice raspy, throat dry.

“Hmm?”

He pulled in a breath like he was unsure if he was allowed it. “I’m so sorry Haley.”

She ground her teeth together to hold back a visible reaction to the despair she heard in his voice. They’d come so far, run from the dangers of his past in every way she knew how. He seemed so happy with her, so improved. He appeared sure of himself with people, even making jokes in his own quiet way. Each day put them further from his family, from his childhood, closer to their future. The one she’d always envisioned, the one she’d wanted so intensely she was able to pull him with her towards it. She was fixated on the nearness of it and she sometimes forgot. She forgot how damaged he’d been. He was so fucking good at hiding it from her. She’d never fully seen, never fully understood what was happening to him when they were kids and now, now with all the trappings of adulthood, no longer in any physical danger, just the haunting of his mind, it was even harder to spot. She was mad at herself for forgetting, for letting something as small as running a little late be the reason he’d drawn into himself, made him feel like he needed to hide. But she knew he would only read that as anger towards him and that wasn’t what he needed. She leaned her forehead against their intertwined hands for a moment, collecting herself, making sure the words would come out right.

He was watching her, his dark eyes full of fear still too close to the surface to disguise. He was terrified of the consequences of his actions, convinced (every time) this would be the final straw, that Haley had reached her limit with him. Why did he have to lock the stupid door? Why couldn’t he be normal? Normal people didn’t do that, didn’t have an obsession with such inconsequential, symbolic measures of security.

She saw this and sighed. “It’s okay Aaron. I’m not mad at you.”

He looked at her doubtfully.

“I promise, I just…” Haley didn’t know what to say, too aware of how useless words were, how deep the pain ran that she’d carelessly uncovered. She stood up and pulled him into a hug, his head resting against her chest. She pressed her lips into his hair. “I love you Aaron.” She held him there a minute longer, hoping she could convey through stillness how much she meant it, praying that he could decode her apology from her beating heart. When she pulled back to look at him again he was calm, the scared child retreated, hidden safely again behind his perfect smile. It unnerved her, something telling her this wasn’t exactly better but it would have to do for now. She really was late.

“I’ll see you tonight,” she told him, promising herself that she’d talk to him about this later, that she wouldn’t let him brush it off, convince her once again that there was nothing to worry about. He only nodded, smiling again as she kissed the corner of his mouth.

As soon as she left he got up and checked the front door, turning the deadbolt she often forgot to put in place, trying not to feel guilty as he did. He didn’t know how to explain it to Haley, who had never used her door as a shield, had never had even that most basic barrier taken from her at times. A lock might not have prevented all the bad things that had happened to him but it would have at least slowed them down. It would have been a few extra moments’ warning to disappear. It didn’t matter that he was too old and too far away to be afraid anymore. It didn’t matter that his fears were all memories while the locks were here in the present, they still helped somehow and he couldn’t stop. He could only hope Haley would forgive him for it.

You were just responding to what you learned Vincent. When you grow up in an environment like that, an extremely abusive, violent household it’s not surprising that some people grow up to become killers.” “Some people?” “What’s that?” “You said ‘some people’ grow up to become killers.” “…and some people grow up to catch them.”

He didn’t know what day it was. Time had ceased to hold any meaning to him. Sometimes people came and pulled him in different directions, poking his unresisting arms and legs into clothing, tying his shoes like he was a child again. They tried to get him to eat, attempting a range of foods to entice him but his plates were mostly left untouched. He swallowed pills automatically, finally a good patient after so many years.

People talked around him but he couldn’t hear what they said. Sometimes a word would float above the rest, make its way into his consciousness. Jack. Haley. He knew that there were emotions he should feel. Something more he should be doing, where was his son? But then the thought would slip away and he’d go back to examining the paint on the walls.

The only time he had any reaction was when someone sat him on the edge of the tub and tried to shave his face. He balked at the scrape of the razor on his skin, falling backwards into the tub to the sound of elaborate multi-lingual cussing. Emily, he thought numbly, only Emily knows how to swear like that.

“You absolute fucking prick,” she continued, advancing on him like he wasn’t lying half stunned in his own bathtub, blood sliding down his neck.

He wondered briefly at her worry, noting that she only used her choicest insults for when she was afraid. But there was nothing to be afraid of, he wasn’t alive so he couldn’t be hurt. Didn’t she know that? He didn’t resist when she dragged him back up but didn’t help either, ending up mildly choked by his own shirt collar.

“Asshole,” she muttered, this time holding his head in place with a fistful of his hair as she finished her job. She held a warm washcloth to the cut, “Here, hold this while I find your fucking first aid kit.” When he only stared at her she roughly grabbed his right hand and pressed it onto the cloth, holding it in place. “Stay,” she ordered. She continued to talk to herself as she opened drawers, or maybe it was to him but he wasn’t listening. Dead people don’t have conversations.

“You really want to get me in trouble, huh? I told Jessica I would handle this and now I’m going to return you bleeding and concussed. She’s going to be pissed”

“‘m not concussed.”

Her eyes left the cut where she was trying to apply liquid adhesive to focus on his. They were hazy and drifted from her to a spot over her shoulder. She had been joking about the concussion but that made her a little worried. Probably just the sedatives, she told herself hopefully. She waited to see if he’d say anything else. He hadn’t spoken in days, not since they’d found him, covered in blood, strangling a dead man.

“Do you know what today is?” Her voice was gentle, no longer baiting him.

He blinked at her slowly, eyes still unfocused. “No,” he whispered.

Her heart sank into her stomach, she’d been hoping not to have to be the one to remind him. Jessica said she’d talked to him (at him) about it just that morning.

“Aaron, it’s—”

“No,” louder this time, his voice taking on some of the chill she was used to him directing at those who most displeased him.

She wasn’t going to fight with him, not today. She finished what she could, hoping it wouldn’t be too noticeable. A dark laugh twisted through her when she noted the rest of his face—one little shaving nick couldn’t compare to the damage already done. When she tried to pull him to his feet, he shook off her hand but stood on his own and made it into the bedroom before freezing. He seemed lost, unsure where to go next. Emily came around from behind him, giving him a wide berth like she’d give a horse prone to kicking. She didn’t pause as she went to his closet, pulled down a dress shirt. Then, after looking over her shoulder at him, she dug in a drawer for a white undershirt as well. She returned and looked at him expectantly. He didn’t move.

“Arms,” she prompted.

He blinked, confused. She pointed to his collar. “You’ve got blood all over that one, you need to change.”

He flinched as she grabbed the hem of his shirt but she didn’t stop. She’d found it was best to move quickly, before he could get his mind around resisting. Before long she was making short work of buttoning the crisp white dress shirt. It took until she’d looped his tie around his neck for him to catch up, to remember that he wasn’t going along with this. Not today. He backed up but she followed, determined to be ready when it was time. She was going to do her part to get her friend where he needed to be, whether he thought he wanted to go or not. When she didn’t let up he panicked, the tie becoming hands wrapped around his neck. He pulled at it with one hand, trying to push her away with the other.

“No!” He was getting better at the word even if he didn’t understand what he was fighting against. Still uncoordinated, he tripped, just barely catching himself on the bed, slowing his fall. He managed to get the tie off and threw it, finding a few more words to yell at Emily. A fully grown man, he hadn’t thrown a fit in decades but wasn’t quite aware of how strangely he was behaving, how frightening it was. Wasn’t at all aware that he’d started crying. Emily dropped to the floor beside him as he covered his face, trying to press himself into the corner formed by the bed and the nightstand. Trying to disappear. She was afraid to touch him.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” she tried to sound soothing but she was scared by this sudden change. He’d barely seemed conscious these last few days, since he’d had to be convinced to let go of Haley’s body, long grown cold.

“Aaron, please.” She bit her lip, steeling herself for what came next. Then she grabbed both his wrists, pulling them away from his face, forcing him to look at her. Normally he would be stronger but killing Foyet had done some damage and the medications he was on were numbing his reflexes. He struggled but she held on, feeling guilty as her fingers dug into his forearms.

“Goddamnit!”

He’d gotten one hand free and in the process smacked her in the side of the face. She rocked back on her heels, glaring at him as she explored the sore spot with her fingertips. She could taste blood where the inside of her cheek cut against her teeth. It was enough to bring him back to the present. He looked at her, horrified.

“Are you done?”

He tried to remember what happened, when Emily had gotten there. He could swear she had been someone else.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what…”

“Yeah, whatever, jerk,” she said as she stood up and offered him a hand again. He moved slowly but with far more awareness. When she reached up to hold his face, his eyes focused on hers easily. She could see he knew what was happening—what day it was and where he was going. All the knowledge he’d been hiding from was there, the panic it caused barely contained.

“You can do this,” she promised him, brushing away a remaining tear. He closed his eyes and felt the softness of her hands, the kindness she was offering him. “Just breathe.”

He didn’t deserve it.

“I was wrong, Em,” he said, “all this time, I’ve been wrong. I’ve been lying.”

She lowered her hands, linking her fingers lightly through his battered ones. “What do you mean?”

“I thought,” he hesitated, searching for the words. “I thought I was the good guy, that I was different, that I had chosen different than all these bastards we hunt down.”

He stopped and she wasn’t sure if he would continue, but she waited anyway, knowing how sometimes the thoughts came slowly.

“I’m not different though, am I? It doesn’t matter how many of them I catch, how many I help put away, it’s always there inside me. It’ll always be there, I can’t escape it.”

“Escape what?”

“What I am.”

He seemed to think this was explanation enough but she shook her head. If he was saying what she thought he was, she was going to make him say it out loud, force him to hear how ridiculous the idea was.

“I’m a killer, Emily,” he looked away, too ashamed to face her. “Inside me, under everything else, there’s just this…anger. No better than Foyet, no better than my father, no better than any of them.” Then, even more quietly, “I’ve just tricked you all into thinking I’m not.”

“Shut up.”

“What?” Before he realized what was happening she’d pushed him down so he was seated on the edge of the bed, giving her a few inches of height as she stood in front of him, furious.

“You, Aaron Hotchner, are not any of that. And you know it, you’re smarter than this. I mean, listen to what you’re saying, did you even hear that shit? You’re a fucking idiot but you are not a killer and you are so much better than those people.”

She took a breath, “This is not your fault.”

He started to shake his head, denial ready on his lips but she grabbed him by the shoulders.

“You fucking listen to me. Haley was murdered. Not by you, not by whatever insane chain of events you’ve linked together to lead back to you with your twisted bullshit logic. A literal serial killer murdered her, Aaron. His choice, not yours.” She paused to see if he was going to argue. He looked unconvinced but didn’t speak so she continued, “Even if you don’t believe me right now, Jack needs you to pretend. And I know how fucking good you are at pretend so pretend this. For Jack. And for Jessica. And for the rest of us. Okay?”

He looked at her with an expression that crushed her heart but she wouldn’t let it go.

“I wouldn’t lie to you Aaron. I’d tell you if this was your fault, you know I would. You’re still the good guy, this doesn’t change that. Don’t let him take that away from you too.”

She hadn’t let go of his shoulders and she could feel the tension in his muscles, how badly he wanted to get away. She fought the tears that had threatened to fall as she watched how difficult it was for her friend to believe what she was telling him.

“Just try, please,” she was begging now and she didn’t care.

He sighed, “Okay, I can try.”

He wanted to take it back as soon as he’d said it, thinking about all the ways he’d keep letting them down, how much simpler it would be to give in, accept his failings. But he resisted, Emily’s relief was too much to take away just then. He would compromise. Today, he silently added. I can try today.

She knocked her forehead against his, moving a little too fast to wrap her arms around his neck, losing her battle with her tears. She could tell he was already doubting himself but that was okay, she could work with that. She just needed him to be here, the rest was all a matter of time.

“You’re so, so stupid,” she sniffed, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand, “and I love you.”

#criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #vincent perotta #haley hotchner #Emily prentiss #george foyet #hotch thoughts

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a-simple-gaywitch · 3 years

Text

Coffee Encounters

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gideon!Reader

Summary: When (Y/N) spills a coffee on Spencer Reid, he doesn't expect her to become a huge part of his life.

Warnings: Mutual Pining, Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Substance Abuse, Criminal Minds-Typical Violence

Word Count: 4,481

A/N: My first tumblr-published fic in a WHILE! I’m rewriting my tag list, so if you want to be tagged, message me!

“What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything?”

- Vincent Van Gogh

The coffee shop was filled with people rushing to get their caffeine fix before work. You turned around and spilled your iced caramel mocha all over a tall, lanky man in an oversized sweater vest behind you.

“Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry!” you said, rushing to grab napkins. “I am so, so sorry!”

“It’s fine,” the man assured you, taking the napkins you offered him. “I probably would have spilled coffee on myself at work today anyway.”

“Still, I’m so sorry. I-I have uh, an interview today and I’m seeing my dad for the first time in a while so I’m pretty nervous, and when I get nervous, I get super clumsy.” You awkwardly held your hand out to him. “I’m (Y/N).”

“Spencer,” he said. “Sorry, I have a, uh, germ thing.”

“Let me buy you your coffee,” you offered. “It’s the least I can do after spilling mine all over you.”

Spencer ran through the bullpen up to the conference room. He threw his satchel down on the floor next to his chair before flopping into it.

“You’re late,” Hotch said, not looking up from the paper in front of him.

“I know,” Spencer said, breathlessly. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Well, now that you’re here, we can get started.”

The team, of course, noticed the change in Spencer’s behavior. Morgan decided to be the one to ask about it.

“Okay, what’s her name?” he asked, rolling his chair over to Reid’s desk.

“What are you talking about?”

“You haven’t stopped smiling all day. Even after Hotch stuck you with more paperwork and told us we’d have to stay late tonight. So, who is she?”

Spencer smiled down at his desk. “I met her at the coffee shop this morning. Her name’s-”

“(Y/N)!”

Spencer looked up to see you running towards Gideon.

“Dad!”

Spencer’s jaw dropped when he saw Gideon wrap you in a hug. “How are you, Pumpkin? How was the interview?”

“Uh, I’m not sure. You know how I get when I’m nervous. And I kept thinking about how I haven’t seen you in years and-”

“(Y/N/N), take a breath. You’re rambling.”

“Right. Right.” You exaggerated your exhale. “I’m good.”

“Come on, let’s go to my office. You can tell me about your interview.”

When you followed Gideon up the stairs, Morgan turned back to Spencer.

“That’s her?” Spencer nodded, still in shock. “Oh, Pretty Boy,” Morgan laughed, “what did you get yourself into?”

Spencer was asking himself that same question.

“So, tell me about the job interview. Was it really as bad as you thought?”

“I don’t know,” you sighed. “I got all nervous and jumpy, my hands were all sweaty. You know how I get when I’m nervous. I walked into a scarecrow decoration they had in the hallway.” Your father pursed his lips, obviously trying to hold back a laugh. You sighed. “Go ahead.”

“What? No, I’m not laughing!”

“Dad, I love you, but you’re a terrible liar.”

“Come on,” he said, getting up from his desk, still chuckling. “I’ll introduce you to the team.”

You followed your father out of his office. The team was gathered in the bullpen.

“Guys, this is my daughter, (Y/N) Gideon.”

“It’s nice to see you again, (Y/N),” Aaron Hotchner said, shaking your hand.

“You too, Aaron.”

“This is Agent Jareau,” Gideon said, gesturing to JJ. “And Agent Morgan.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” the man said, shaking your hand.

“This is Agent Greenaway,” Gideon said, introducing you to the rest of the team. “Dr. Reid, and Penelope Garcia, our technical analyst.”

“So, what was it like growing up as Gideon’s daughter?” Penelope asked you.

“Oh, you know, it was like any other girl growing up with an overprotective father,” you said. “I was in self-defense classes since I was 3, I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere alone until I was 17, my older brother hogged the bathroom in the morning, and when I started dating, I couldn’t go out with a guy until Dad profiled him.”

“Ooh, that’s rough,” Agent Greenaway said. “How did you deal with that?”

You shrugged. “I was a teenager, and Dad was almost always away for work.” Your dad looked at you. “I mean, I was a perfect angel who never did anything wrong.”

“Yeah, nice try, kiddo,” Gideon said. “We’re gonna talk about that at dinner. Speaking of which, ready to go?”

“Sure, I haven’t eaten all day.”

After you and Gideon left, Morgan turned to Reid.

“So, Gideon’s daughter.”

“Shut up, Morgan,” Spencer muttered, his face red.

When Jason came back from his last case, he noticed that you weren’t there. You’d been staying with him until you heard more about the job. Jason thought for a moment before smiling to himself and heading back out.

“Thought I might find you here,” Jason said, sitting next to you on the grass.

You were sitting in front of a gravestone, a vase of fresh flowers on the grass. You brushed your hand over the lettering on the marker. ”I got the job.”

“Well, that’s great!”

“I guess,” you shrugged. “Is it- is it weird that I feel guilty if I don’t visit when I’m in the area?” You smiled, tracing your finger over the name. “I feel like, if I don’t visit, Mom’s yelling at me from beyond.”

Jason smiled. “It’s not weird at all. Especially since you were so young when we lost her.”

You sighed, letting your hand fall back to your side. “Do you think she’s proud of me?”

Jason was shocked by your question. “Of course she is,” he told you. “She’d be so proud of you, pumpkin.”

“Even though I broke my promise to her?” you whispered. “I promised I’d find a cure so no one would have to suffer like she did.”

“(Y/N),” your father sighed, “you were barely 15 when she died. She never expected you to keep that promise.” He nudged your shoulder. “Besides, she’d love that you’re dedicating your life to teaching kids.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. I’m your dad, I know everything.”

You laughed, leaning your head on his shoulder.

You settled into the DC area well. You’d become best friends with Penelope Garcia, and you grew closer to the rest of your dad’s team. Even though you weren’t part of the BAU, you were family.

You grew even closer to Spencer, too. Penelope, despite not being a profiler, could tell there was something up. She noticed the glances you’d give him when he wasn’t looking, and vice-versa.

“So, what’s going on with you and Reid?” she asked you over your Saturday morning coffees.

“What are you talking about, Pen?”

“Oh, come on! I see the way you look at him.”

“Wha- the way I look at him?”

“Yeah, you look at him like you’re ready to have his babies.”

“ Penelope! ”

The team was in Florida, getting deathbed interviews from Sarah Jean and Jacob Dawes. Gideon was sent in to interview Sarah Jean.

“Do you have children, Agent Gideon?” she asked him.

“It’s irrelevant,” he told her.

“Is it?”

While Hotch interviewed Jacob, Gideon and Reid were looking over the interview with Sarah Jean, looking for anything that might grant her a stay of execution. After some discussion with the team, Gideon headed back in to talk to Sarah Jean.

“Does the strain of your work affect your marriage?” Sarah Jean asked him.

“I’m not married.”

“You wear a ring.”

Jason rubbed the wedding band he still wore with his thumb. “Why would you still be protecting Jacob?” he decided to ask.

“Did you divorce because of putting people like me away?”

“I think you’re innocent,” Jason told her.

“We’re all guilty of something. But it’s… our children who suffer for our sins, isn’t it?”

“You’d have to ask them.”

“How old are they?” she asked.

“27 and 24,” Jason said with a smile.

Sarah Jean smiled. “Do you have pictures of them?” she asked.

“In my office. One of my son, one of my daughter.”

“You don’t carry them with you?”

“No.”

“To protect them. Tell me, Agent Gideon, does this job make you worry about your daughter?”

He nodded. “Every day.”

“Is there anything you wouldn’t do for your children, Agent Gideon?”

He shook his head. “Absolutely nothing.”

Spencer was pouring sugar into his coffee when he heard you and Garcia laughing. He turned to see the two of you talking in the doorway.

“Oh, before I forget to ask,” you said, “can you come in on Wednesday as a guest reader?”

“I’d love to!” Penelope said. “I’d love to read to those little angels!”

You smiled and adjusted the bag on your shoulder. “Great! I’ll see you tomorrow morning for coffee?”

“Of course.”

You waved towards Gideon’s office before ducking out of the BAU.

Elle came up to the coffee maker and poured herself a mug. “Why don’t you just ask her out?”

“I can’t do that,” he said, sipping his overly-sweetened coffee.

“Why not? It’s obvious you like her.”

“She’s Gideon’s daughter , Elle. I can’t ask her out.”

“Oh, I get it,” she said, stirring milk into her coffee. “You’re afraid Gideon wouldn’t approve of you dating his little girl.” She tossed the coffee stir into the trash and took a sip of her coffee. “If it’s any consolation, I think if he were to approve of anyone for (Y/N), it would be you.”

“You think?”

“The man loves you, Reid,” she told him. “Plus, you’re just as awkward and dorky as she is, you’re a good match.”

Spencer sat at his desk, with only his lamp to light the bullpen. A tabloid magazine sat on top of his case file.

“Hey Reid, you’re lucky they didn’t get a shot of you next to the pool trying to draw your gun. You looked like a drowned rat,” Morgan laughed.

Spencer chewed his lip for a moment. “Did you know that, um, she, uh- I kissed her? In the pool? It’s so weird. It doesn’t even feel like it really happened, you know?”

“Sure. She’s a beautiful young actress.”

“Yeah, but…” he paused, looking at the cover of the magazine, “it didn’t feel right. I felt guilty, almost. I felt like I was crossing professional boundaries.”

“Look, some things you can’t control, even with that big ol’ brain of yours,” Morgan told him with a smile.

Spencer was silent while Morgan put on his jacket. “Hey Morgan? Has there ever been a girl you just… couldn’t get out of your mind, no matter how hard you try? Even when another girl is kissing you?”

“I can’t say I have,” Morgan said. “But if this girl is so heavy on your mind, you should see where it goes.”

“So, you think I should call her?”

“I don’t know, Reid. But I do know you don’t have to decide tonight. I’ll see you Monday, okay, kid?”

“Yeah. Have a good weekend, Morgan.” He sat at his desk, looking at the tabloid. He sighed and threw the magazine in his trash can.

Of course, you’d seen the tabloids. You were out grocery shopping when you saw the pictures. You picked up the magazine and scoffed.

“It’s crazy how they invade celebrities’ lives, isn’t it?” the old woman in line behind you said. “That poor boy was probably just at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Yeah,” you said, putting the tabloid back on the rack. “It’s crazy.”

The next day at work, one of your coworkers came up to you while you were cleaning paint off the tables.

“So, should we talk about how your boyfriend is supposedly dating a tv star?”

Your face heated up. “He’s not my boyfriend, Hannah. He’s my dad’s coworker.” You heard one of the kids start crying. “Oh, Joshie’s crying again. Maybe you should go find out what happened.”

When the last kid was finally picked up by his grandmother, you were exhausted. But you still had to clean up the classroom. You sighed and started picking up the pretend food and sorting it into the proper baskets.

“Night, (Y/N),” your coworker said.

“Night, Ronnie. See you tomorrow.” You hung the costumes back on the hangers and put them back on the rack when someone knocked on the door. When you looked up, you saw Spencer standing in the doorway, his hands fidgeting.

“Oh, hey, it’s Lila Archer’s secret boyfriend!” you said, pushing up from the floor.

“Please tell me you didn’t buy into those pictures.”

“Well, you know what they say, a picture is worth a thousand words.”

He walked over to where you were gathering stuffed animals and helped you collect them. “It wasn’t what they made it look like,” he said. “She was attracted to me, but it was just transference.” He rubbed the back of his hand, his eyes looking down at the roadmap carpet. “And she isn’t the girl I like.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Lila didn’t make my heart rate speed up just by smiling at me like she does.” Spencer’s eyes were shining as he talked.

“What else do you like about this girl?” you asked him.

“She’s smart, she’s caring, she listens to me when I ramble on about random facts.” He smiled and looked at you. “She’s one of the only people in the world that calls me Spence. And she’s super clumsy when she gets nervous.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “You’re the one I want to be with (Y/N). You’re the one I can’t stop thinking about.”

“Damn, girl, if you don’t take him, I will!” Hannah said from the doorway, making you both blush.

“Go home, Hannah,” you said.

“Okay, okay, I’m just saying.”

Spencer chuckled, looking down at his Converse.

“You know, I like you too, Spence.”

Spencer’s face lit up. He grabbed the sides of your face and kissed you. When he pulled away, his face was red.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thin-”

“Spencer, shut up,” you said, grabbing his tie and pulling him in to kiss you again.

“Guys, conference room. Now,” Hotch said, walking through the bullpen.

Morgan pushed up from his desk, walking up the stairs next to Garcia. “Is it just me, or has Reid been weird around Gideon today?”

“Oh, no, he is,” she said. “He and (Y/N) kissed last night.”

“Wait, so Reid and (Y/N) kissed?”

“Yep.”

“And Gideon doesn’t know?”

“Nope.”

“So everything he’s saying is making Reid uncomfortable?”

“Yep.”

“Should we exploit this?”

“Definitely.”

After everyone settled into the room, JJ started her presentation of the case, with the help of Gideon and Hotch.

“Uh, Gideon,” Morgan said, “When the plane kisses down on the air strip, do you want me to go to the scene with you?”

Spencer’s eyes widened as Gideon looked over Morgan. “Uh, weird way to ask that, but yeah. You, me, and Reid will visit the scene.”

“Do you think we can make out any information from the victims?” Garcia asked.

“Guys, what’s going on?” Hotch asked.

“Nothing!” Spencer said. “Can we just get to the jet?”

Hotch eyed Spencer suspiciously before saying, “Wheels up in 30.”

You’d heard about Elle, of course. You’d heard about her injury, investigation, and resignation. Spencer was shaken up about her leaving.

The team was bunkered down at the office when you stopped in with some coffees.

“Excuse me,” you said to the dark-haired woman standing by the printer, “is Agent Gideon in?”

“Yeah, were you meeting with him for this case?”

You laughed. “No. No, I’m his daughter. I’m (Y/N).” You shifted the coffee in your hands to shake hers.

“Emily Prentiss.”

“Oh, you’re the new agent. Dad mentioned there was a new transfer.”

“Well, he should be up in his office,” Agent Prentiss told you.

“Thank you, Agent Prentiss.”

“Please, call me Emily.”

You smiled before climbing the steps to your father’s office. You knocked on the door, waiting for him to answer.

“Come in.” You pushed the door open to find your dad at his desk, his glasses perched on his nose as he filled out paperwork.

“I brought you a coffee,” you said, setting the cup on his desk.

“Thank you,” he said, pulling the hot cup closer to him.

“And I made you some meals for when I go away.”

“(Y/N), you didn’t have to-”

“Dad, you know what the doctor said. Your blood pressure is way too high, and I know you won’t stop this job. The least you can do is stop eating so much takeout.”

“(Y/N)-”

“Dad, I’m serious. I don’t want you dying before you have the chance to walk me down the aisle. At least eat them when you’re home?”

He sighed. “Okay. Alright. What time does your flight leave again?”

“Five in the morning,” you said.

“You’ll call me when you land?”

“Of course, Dad,” you promised.

“Good. Tell Miranda I say congratulations.”

“I will,” you said. “I’m gonna go deliver these coffees to Penelope and Spencer.” You walked out of his office, closing the door behind you. You walked into the BatCave, setting the mocha frappuccino on her desk. “Last coffee before I go to Maine,” you said, sitting in Penelope’s spare chair.

“You better show me those wedding pictures, you know I love weddings,” she said, sipping her coffee. “Are you gonna talk to Reid before you go?”

“Sure, I have to give him his coffee.”

“No, (Y/N), are you going to talk to him about the kiss? It’s been months and you two still haven’t talked about it.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you guys are always on a case.”

“Garcia, conference room,” JJ said, poking her head into the office.

“Speaking of,” you sighed. “I’ll see you when I get back, Pen.”

Before you left the BAU, you left Spencer’s coffee on his desk, a sticky note with a smiley face on top of the lid.

“ Hey, Dad, it’s me, ” you said on your message to Jason, “ I got sent straight to voicemail so I’m guessing that means you’re on the jet. I’m just calling to let you know my flight got delayed. There’s a huge storm so the plane is grounded until it’s over. I’ll be home as soon as I can. Love you, bye. ”

“You okay?” Hotch asked when Gideon slipped his phone back into his pocket.

“Yeah. (Y/N) just left a message, apparently it’s storming so her flight is delayed.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Are we any closer to finding Reid?”

“No. But Garcia found a way for us to get a video to him . We can let him know we’re looking for him.”

Spencer was struggling. He could feel the little glass bottles in his pocket, and he was itching for them.

“Hey, Spence!” you said, your bubbly voice shocking him as you set a cup of coffee on his desk.

“What’s this?”

“Dad said the last couple of cases were hard on you guys, I thought you might want a pick-me-up.”

He pushed the coffee towards the back of his desk. “I’m fine.”

“Spencer, what’s going on? You never turn down free coffee from Winnifred’s. Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine, okay?” he snapped. “Just leave me alone.”

When he saw your face, he knew he fucked up. “Fine. When the Spencer I know gets back, let me know. Goodbye, Dr. Reid.” You walked out of the BAU, brushing passed Hotch and Morgan as they came from the break room.

“What was that about?” Morgan asked.

“Nothing,” Spencer said, pushing up from his desk and walking away from the two.

When you hadn’t visited the office for a few weeks, the team knew something was off. While Morgan talked to Reid, Gideon went to your apartment to talk to you.

“Hey, Dad,” you said when you opened the door. “What’s up?”

“I was gonna ask you the same thing,” he said. “You haven’t visited in weeks.”

“I’ve been busy,” you said, getting a bottle of water and offering it to your father. “Mack wants me to get my Masters, she said I’d be a good academic director.”

“That’s not the reason,” he said, taking a sip of the water. “What happened between you and Reid?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on, (Y/N), I’m your dad. I know you have feelings for each other.” Your face turned red and you looked down at your feet. “You’re a grown woman, (Y/N). You don’t need my permission to date anymore. But if you do want my opinion, I think you and Spencer would be a great match.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, I do. Now, what happened?”

You sighed, flopping onto your old, worn out couch. “You’d all been so busy lately, so I decided to bring him coffee from our favorite shop. But he was, he was acting different . And not a good different. When I tried asking him what was wrong, he got all defensive and he lashed out at me. So I told him that when the Spencer I know gets back, he could let me know.”

“Well, I’m not sure that’s going to happen,” Jason said.

“What do you mean?”

Your father sighed, setting the bottle on the old trunk you used as a coffee table. “On one of our cases, he got kidnapped.”

“Oh, my god,” you said, covering your mouth with your hand. “Oh, Spence. No wonder he was different.”

“He needs you to be there for him, even if he doesn’t think he does.” Jason’s phone started ringing. He sighed when he saw the caller ID. “I gotta go. Oh, but before I forget,” he pulled a disk out of his jacket and handed it to you, “happy birthday.”

“What’s this?”

“I don’t know how long this case is gonna be, I might not be home in time for your birthday. Just watch the DVD.” He kissed your forehead before heading out the door.

You were curled up on your couch, wrapped in blankets as you rewatched the DVD again. It was all the home movies your family ever filmed from your childhood. You were tearing up as you watched your mom push you on the swings.

“Higher! Higher, Mommy, higher!”

“Hold on tight!”

There was a knock at your door. You paused the video and untangled yourself from your nest of blankets. You peered through the peephole and saw Spencer standing outside, his hands behind his back. You undid the deadbolt and opened the door.

“Spencer-”

“(Y/N), I’m sorry.” He brought his hands back around, showing you a bouquet of flowers- all your favorites. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, I was out of line. I-I wasn’t in my right mind and-”

“Spencer, breathe.” You motioned for him to come in. He handed you the flowers. “Dad told me what happened in Atlanta.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “He didn’t tell you everything.”

“What do you mean?” You set the flowers on your kitchen counter and sat next to Spencer on your couch.

“Promise me you won’t blow up and get angry.”

“Spence, what’s going on?”

He took a deep breath. “When I was kidnapped, the unsub injected me with dilaudid. It was meant to keep me passive and subdued.”

“And now you’re addicted, aren’t you?” you realized. “Oh, Spencer.”

“I’m getting help,” he assured you. “Gideon kind of, uh, talked a little sense into me.” His hands were fidgeting. “I, I didn’t want to tell you because I thought you might, I don’t know. I thought you might not like me anymore.”

You took his hand in yours. “Spencer, I knew I liked you when I spilled my coffee on you and you didn’t freak out on me. Then I got to know you, and your kind, gentle heart. I don’t think I could ever stop liking you.”

Spencer’s smile came back. His real smile. He turned his head to the tv. “Is that your mom?”

“Yeah,” you said, a sad smile on your face as you hit play.

“You don’t talk about her much.”

“She died when I was in high school,” you said. “After she died, my uncle took over recording family videos when Dad was off on cases.”

“You look just like her,” Spencer told you. “Wait, what’s this one?” he asked.

The camera was pointed at a stage, lights coming up on apartment buildings.

“Oh, this is from when I did Little Shop of Horrors !” you said. “I played Audrey.”

“Wow, really?” He cleared his throat. “I-I don’t mean I think you can’t do it, I just meant I can’t see you letting a man treat you like that.”

You shrugged. “Acting, Spence.”

He laughed and you leaned against him. His face turned pink, but he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. He kissed the top of your head.

Your dad left the bureau, for good. He dropped off the map, not even telling you where he was going. Spencer was beyond upset. When he found the letter, he showed up at your apartment, tear tracks down his cheeks.

“Spence, what happened?” You took his hand and gently pulled him inside. “Spencer?” He handed you the letter as the two of you sat on the couch. “Oh, Spencer.”

“He left. He left us. Without even saying goodbye.”

“I’m sorry, Spence.” You wrapped your arms around him and he rested his head on your shoulder. “I know how you’re feeling. I can’t tell you the number of times I expected Dad to be at something, and he wasn’t there. It got to the point where I was surprised if he did show up.”

“How did you deal with that?” Spencer asked you.

You shrugged. “I guess, I just… focused on who was there for me.”

Spencer woke up the next morning to his phone blaring. He was disoriented, and didn’t quite recognize his surroundings. Until he looked to his left and saw you laying next to him.

You sat up and rubbed your eyes. “Is that the team?” you asked, your voice still rough from sleep.

“Yeah,” Spencer sighed.

“Go. They need you.”

“But-”

“Spence.” You cupped his face in your hands. “I’ll be here when you get back. I promise.” You kissed him and pressed your forehead to his. “Go save the world, my genius.”

#em writes #em's fics #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #x reader

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 3 years

Text

Broken Mirror: Part Two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, and angst

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.

Feedback is gold, and it’s the only currency I take

“Please, come in,” Evan Davenport greeted when you finally showed up at his house. You, Gideon, Hotch, and Spencer went to his house while Elle and Derek met Cheryl at the crime scene. “I have six people on my staff. I have three bodyguards. They've all had polygraphs. Everybody's been vetted.”

“Have they all have alibis for the night of the kidnapping?” Hotch asked. Entering the house, you looked around at family pictures and little trinkets they ad at the house. Sometimes, those are the biggest clue about who a person is and what they are capable of. There were a lot of people at the house to make sure it wasn’t bugged so that Evan’s team can come in and set up their equipment.

“All accounted for by the local FBI field office. Cheryl flew in yesterday. I'm just making sure that she's not alone even for--sorry, I just feel like I'm suffocating here. I just want somebody to tell me that she's okay.”

“Dr. Reid,” Gideon called for him, waiting until he was by his side. “What do the statistics tell us?”

“If you follow their instructions and give them the money, your daughter will be returned.”

“Done. This house is bug free,” an FBI agent from the local field office announced. The head bodyguard or whatever he was called in for their equipment. His name is Vincent Shyer, but there was something off about him. You couldn't place exactly what it was, but you were going to make sure he was watched very closely by your eye.

“Alright, bring it in!”

“Gideon,” you whispered, motioning him to come over. “I’m getting a weird vibe from Vincent. Like weirder than normal. Almost as if I can feel Trish’s energy all over him.”

“Keep an eye on him. We can’t rule anyone out.”

“Okay,” you nodded slightly. He left your side to go back to the group to question the father some more, leaving you alone.

“So, what are your theories so far about this kidnapper?”

“That he targeted you for a reason. Every line of the letter starts with the word ‘you’. He's angry at you and probably feels like you owe him. That everything you own, you don't deserve,” Hotch answered.

“From the language in the ransom we most likely believe that he's working alone,” you added from your corner of the room. Looking at the agents, you just gave them a smile before heading over to the group. “So, your daughters are identical twins?”

“They're not entirely identical. They're mirror twins. Some of Trish's organs are on the right side that should be on the left. Doctors assured us that it wasn't life-threatening,” Evan explained, showing your team the book that explained the condition in detail. Spencer took it, opened it, and began reading it. Along with Evan’s team’s equipment, you brought some of your own to monitor the call which Hotch was getting set up right now. He was going to make sure that when this bastard called, he would track him.

“Situs inversus,” Spencer said from his spot, naming the condition that Evan just described. He ran his finger down the length of the page quickly since his mind could process that many words per minute. He was flying through the pages at an incredible speed, and Evan kept watching him out of the corner of his eye.

“They had self-defense training?” Gideon asked.

“Yeah. I insisted on it. The protective detail rankled when they hit puberty, and I was sure that they would refuse their bodyguards when they left for college,” he stuttered at the end, turning to Spencer to address his reading skills. “Excuse me. Can you actually read that fast?”

“Our conscious minds can process sixteen bits of information per second. Our unconscious, however, can process eleven million,” Spencer informed, going back to the book.

“That’s his talk of yes, he can read that fast,” you chuckled.

“If whoever took her wants me to blow cases or suppress evidence or stand down--”

“What makes you think it's someone you prosecuted?” Gideon interrupted him.

“Well, I have money, but I don't have millions. I mean, what else could it be?”

“In our experience, Mr. Davenport, every case is different,” you said.

Once the rest of the team and Cheryl was back safe in the house, it was almost eight. The call monitoring system was all ready to go, and Evan was going to be the one to answer the call. He didn’t know how to use the system, but Spencer was showing him how.

“This button answers the call,” he explained, pointing to the right ones, “this button makes everyone in the room silent. It'll flash red. You'll be able to hear his side of the conversation. He won't be able to hear us.”

“We'll be running the trace through the field office, but you're in good hands with agent Gideon and his team,” Vincent assured. There was something completely off about him, even after he and his team left to go track it through the field office where they work. There was something wrong, and it bugged the shit out of you that you couldn’t place it.

“You think Cheryl's a whack job because she claims she can feel her sister's anxiety?” Elle spoke to Derek in the kitchen which was right next to you. Leaving your post, you approached the duo.

“I never said whack job.”

“Actually there may be a physiological basis for it,” you said. “Reversed asymmetry monozygotic eggs split late between nine to twelve days.”

“Don’t tell me there’s another one of Reid,” Derek groaned.

“How do you think I got two PhDs at my age? I may not be a genius with an IQ of 187, but I do know a lot,” you grinned.

“She’s actually right,” the young genius said as he joined the group. “The DNA matches right down to the very last stranded code, and there's sporadic documentation of shared physiological pain.”

“You believe it?” Derek asked after staring at you for a good minute.

“No, I'm just saying it's possible. I don't know everything. I mean, despite the fact that you think that I do.”

“I never said that. When have I ever said that?”

“Every day since I met you.”

“This morning at breakfast,” you added.

“Yesterday when he beat you at cards,” Hotch interjected with a grin. “Um, we've got one minute.”

“Anybody ever heard of sarcasm?” Derek scoffed, following the group back into the main room where everyone was waiting. Evan was very nervous, almost to the point of sweating, but he was trying to remain calm. Cheryl, on the other hand, wasn’t doing too well visually. The emotional energy in this room was very nerve racking, it was almost getting to you.

“Remember keep your voice even and calm and agree with everything he says,” Gideon instructed.

“He's late,” Evan sighed impatiently when the clock read 8:02 pm.

“He'll call. Just try to relax. This is his strategy. He wants you on edge,” you said.

“Remember to repeat any important information he gives you to make sure you understand. You try to keep him talking to reveal something about Trish or about himself,” Gideon encouraged. The phone began ringing, and just to keep the unsub stewing a bit, Gideon let the phone ring for a few more seconds before pressing the button that answered the call.

“This is Evan Davenport.”

“Hello, Mr. Davenport,” the unsub spoke. For a split second, you got a flash of Vincent’s face. It disappeared as quickly as it came, but it left you confused as to why you got that image.

“Are you the man who has my daughter Patricia?”

“I have your daughter.”

“Can I ask you--”

“You may ask me nothing,” he interrupted. “This is not an interrogatory. You will only listen to my instructions.”

“Okay,” he whispered.

“But I will not give them to you. I do not want to talk to you, Mr. Davenport. I want to talk to her. I want to talk to Cheryl,” he revealed. Gideon pressed the button that muted the call so that the unsub couldn’t hear anything the room was saying.

“What's he doing?” Evan asked.

“What most of the offenders we catch try to do is establish dominance,” Derek explained.

“How long can we keep him on hold?” Elle questioned.

“We can’t put her on,” you stated the obvious.

“Why not? I want to help. I'll talk to him,” Cheryl jumped at the chance to hear her sister’s voice.

“Cheryl doesn't have the authority that Davenport holds. He shouldn't want to talk to her.”

“I think that she should speak to him,” Elle determined.

“Do I need to repeat myself? I want to talk to Cheryl. Put her on the phone. Now,” the unsub grew impatient on the other line.

“No,” Evan shook his head.

“I think she should speak to him. He wants to talk to her. The more he speaks, the more he reveals.”

“She is right, Gideon,” Derek sighed.

“He has my sister!”

“No,” Gideon shook his head. “Y/N, you do it.”

“Okay,” you whispered, switching places with him. It was either you or Elle, and you had the more delicate voice which would best represent Cheryl’s.

“I’m waiting,” the unsub sighed. Once the room got silent, you pressed the button and began speaking.

“Okay, this is Cheryl.” No answer. “This is Cheryl.”

“I have Patricia by my side. I know her voice, so therefore, I know her sister's. Get off the phone. I want Cheryl. I'll give you 60 seconds. If you don't put her on the phone, I will hang up, and you will never hear from me or Patricia again.”

“Prep her,” Gideon said once the call was muted. Taking a seat next to Cheryl who took your spot, you had to make sure she was ready.

“Fifty seconds.”

“This guy's arrogant. Let him know that he's in control. Let him guide the conversation.”

“Forty.”

“Use your sister's name. Say my sister Trish or her name's Patricia. Talk about her.”

“Thirty-five.”

“Let him get to know her through you. Don't veer off topic.”

“Got it,” Cheryl nodded.

“I know you’re scared, okay? But this is really important that you follow what I say. Agree with him.”

“Twenty-five seconds.”

“Tell him that you understand him. I know this is going to be very difficult, but empathize with him. If you do so, he might reveal where he’s holding her.”

“Twenty.”

“Let him know that he didn't mean to hurt Trish or go this far, and that he can fix it. He has a chance to show that he's a kind and forgiving person by letting your sister go.”

“Ten seconds.”

“If you don’t know what to say, I’ll be right here to help you. I know a thing or two about empathizing.”

“Three, two, one.”

“This is Cheryl,” the young woman spoke a second after the countdown ended.

“Hello, Cheryl. How are you?”

“I'd be a lot better if I knew that my sister Patricia is okay.”

“I can tell you have a lot of empathy, Cheryl. You care about others.”

“Yes, I do, and it sounds like you understand,” she sniffled, but tried to keep her sobs silent.

“You mean that I empathize? Yes. I do. Very much. I empathize. I empathize with you, Cheryl. I know you want to be with your sister.”

“Yes, I want Trish back.”

“Good. Tell me what you want, Cheryl. I'm very interested. Tell me all about yourself. What's your favorite color?” he asked, and you were quick to press the mute button.

“Don’t answer that. Stay on the topic of Trish,” you informed, pressing the button once more to unmute it.

“If I tell you, will you let me talk to my sister?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“I like blue,” she said, letting a tear roll down her cheek.

“How ordinary. Do you like chocolate, Cheryl?” he asked, but received no answer. He was growing impatient, so he repeated the question in a much slower done. “Do. You. Like. Chocolate?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I do as well,” he laughed.

“Please, let me talk to my sister. All I want to do is hear her voice. Please,” she begged. There was some skuttle on the other end, and you hoped Trish was alive enough to answer the call. “Hello?”

“Cheryl?” Trish’s voice sounded groggy like she didn’t know where she was or if she was hopped up on drugs.

“Trish!”

“Cher, is that you?”

“Trish, it's me. I'm here. Are you okay?” Cheryl asked, a tear rolling down her cheek.

“Cher, I can't,” the other sister whimpered.

“Where are you? What do you see?”

“I-I see the moon,” she groaned. The same skuttle sounded, and the phone was taken from the other sister.

“Trish!”

“Have 500,000 ready,” the unsub spoke.

“Let me talk to her!”

“$500,000 is what I'm owed. The Davenports will wait by the phone. You will receive a call with precise instructions in exactly 15 minutes,” the unsub said right before hanging up. Your eyes went to Spencer since he was the one doing the tracing.

“Were your able to trace it?” Gideon asked.

“No. He's probably using a disposable cell phone. They're impossible to trace.”

“She said she could see the moon.”

“She sounded delirious.”

“She was sedated,” you concluded. “It could have been a light.”

“If he's keeping her drugged, it might mean he's not very strong. He might have to keep her weak just so he can dominate her,” Derek observed.

“Or he's keeping her quiet,” Elle added.

“Has Davenport told us everything about his staff?” Gideon wondered.

“Oh, yeah, we have detailed reports but we should probably revisit background on household staff aides and current docket.”

“Pay close attention to Vincent,” you blurted out softly.

“Why? What is it?” Hotch whispered to you.

“I don’t know. All I know is that when the unsub started talking, I got a flash of Vincent’s face. Isn’t it a bit weird that they both sounded the same?”

“Similar, yes. I’ll have Garcia check it out.”

“Thanks,” you nodded.

“He said owed,” Gideon interrupted, thinking out loud.

“$500,000. His demand sounded scripted, like he was reading it to us,” Spencer remarked.

“But the rest of the conversation wasn't. He was his most relaxed just talking to Cheryl,” you conversed.

“What does that mean?” Evan stressed.

“He might know her already.”

“How quickly can you get the money?” Gideon wondered. Deciding to let Gideon handle him, you looked to your left to see Cheryl in the kitchen with a bottle of alcohol in her hand. Sighing, you left their side to join the underaged girl and took both the glass and bottle out of her hand.

“Look, I know I shouldn't drink, but under the circumstances, do you think you could let this one slide?” she sighed.

“I know it’s hard, but we need you at your best.”

“Have you had many cases like this?”

“I’ve seen my share of abductions, yes.”

“I don't know how you do this job. How do you stomach it?”

“Sometimes I don’t. I’m not your normal FBI agent. I see more than most, and I feel it. I’m an empathic psychic. Whether you believe in that sort of thing or not is up to you, but I feel your pain and I feel your sister’s fear as if it were my own. She’s close, but I don’t know where. No matter where I go, all I see are abductions, murders, and everything else you can see. For the most part, all these criminals are just cowards. There's nothing I'd rather do more than put the bastards away.”

“I just wish you could get them before they snatch someone,” Cheryl sighed sadly.

“Trish is alive, I can feel it. I know you can too. You've trusted your feelings this far. Hold onto that.”

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