unseededtoast - Tumblr blog

unseededtoast · 6 days

Text

Turtle Doves | Joel Miller

Part Thirteen

Chapter Directory

Series Summary: In which two broken souls connect so deeply, that if one should perish, the other would surely die of a broken heart. (slow burn, timeline changes. After TLOU1, before TLOU2, assumed knowledge of infected, uses elements from both show and game)

Series Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, death, and sexual content.

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted!

Through watery eyes I see Joel's jaw set tight and I quickly come to terms that I might die here too.

The truck grumbles down the road filled with abandoned cars and debris, and I'm honestly surprised it's lasted us this long. The engine's roar is enough to fill the truck's silence, so that I'm not suffocating from it. Joel and I haven't exchanged a single word after last night, and that's fine with me.

My eyes are glued to the green exit sign that I know we'll be taking and my stomach churns with nerves. Tate said the Fireflies are in shambles, which is nice to hear, but I hope that Trevor is still there and he's willing to answer. I know that I'll have to feign amicability with the Fireflies, but if it means I'm closer to unraveling this mystery then I'm about to be the nicest visitor they've ever met.

Joel stops the truck a few miles away from where the Fireflies should be and sighs heavily. Maybe while I'm gone he'll just drive away and leave me be. Sure, I'd be alone and more vulnerable but I also wouldn't have to put up with his secrecy that hangs over my mind like a dark cloud. Gathering my bag in my hands, I think through the questions I want to ask and what information I really need out of these people. The truck's door squeaks as I hop out, and Joel stays put.

Without checking to see what he's doing, I start heading towards the building the Fireflies claimed. They're easy to find, they practically guide me there with their graffiti spraypainted on the side of every building. Admittedly, the streets are suspiciously empty but that might be due to their declining numbers.

Behind me I hear the slam of the truck's door and heavy footsteps come up behind me. My pace doesn't falter as he catches up to me.

"The hell is your problem?" He asks and I stop in my tracks. My body turns fully towards him, eyes wide. He sure has some nerve.

"What's my problem? What's yours Joel? You're the one who's keeping some sort of secret and you're the one who didn't want to let that kid go last night." The words that fly out of my mouth are probably a bit too loud, but I can't seem to care in the moment. He can't seriously think that our issues are my fault. His cheeks flare with blood, his eyebrows crease harder than they usually are.

"He could've come back to kill us." Joel's voice is low and serious, and I fight back the strong urge to roll my eyes.

"You know he wouldn't have. He was running towards a city that's fallen with nothing but the clothes on his back. He was harmless, it was plain as day." My hands begin moving as I talk, my temper getting the best of me. He huffs in response and goes to keep walking, stepping a few feet in front of me towards the base. Angrily, I turn on my heel and stride towards him.

"Thought you hated the Fireflies, why are you even coming?" My voice is bitter and I think I would have rather had him stay in the truck or better yet, drive off without me.

His broad shoulders tense up as he keeps on the path to the Fireflies, opting to ignore my question. It feels like the blood in my veins is boiling but I push my anger away as I see the main doors of the base. This argument will have to be settled later.

I pick up my pace to reach the base before Joel, not wanting him to be their first impression. His irritability and rough demeanor is not how I want this to start off. The man outside the base points a gun at us and I raise my hands instinctually to show them I'm not a threat.

"Who are you and what business do you have here?" The guard barks out and I speak before Joel can get a word in.

"We need to speak to Trevor." I call back to him and he keeps his gun aimed at us as we continue approaching the doors.

"What business do you have with Trevor?" He questions again, and I plaster a fake smile on my face but I hope it comes off as genuine.

"We have information regarding an operation he's conducting." I keep my answer vague enough so that it's believable, but I leave out the part where I'm going to interrogate Trevor for his possible involvement in the slaughter of children. After a few minutes of silent debate, the guard puts his gun down and beckons us to follow him into the base.

The base is dilapidated and it's obvious that things around here have been rough. There's an overflow of trash piled up in some corners, discarded cans and bags lay all over the place. A ripped Firefly flag hangs from a doorway, acting as a makeshift curtain. The guard leads us through the first floor and up the stairs to the second level. The old wooden stairs creak with every step we take, and I'm half convinced I'm going to fall through them at any given second.

As we make our way through the second level, there are some Fireflies that watch us with curiosity, others look at us with skepticism. Everyone is quiet as we pass through, all of their conversations coming to an abrupt halt. Joel's presence can be felt behind me, he's practically right on my heels as we walk through the place.

Finally, the guard leads us to a closed door at the end of the hall. My heart pumps heavily as I wait for it to open. Footsteps sound on the other side of the door and it swings open, revealing an older man with a receding hairline. He doesn't look very friendly, his face is morphed into a scowl and he gripes at the guard, asking him why he's knocking at the door and not down keeping watch. The guard tells him about our exchange and the man's beady eyes land on me and then on Joel.

"Come in." He opens the door wider and I enter the room with a small thanks.

The room is chaotic. There are maps hung over the walls, all marked up with different circles, lines, and shapes. On the old desk there are dozens of papers scattered and torn. Shredded curtains cover the windows, or try to at least, but there's a steady ray of sunshine that beams into the room, making it hot and stuffy. As Joel steps in, the man closes the door behind him.

"Who are you?" The man wastes no time in getting to the bottom of things.

I smile once more and channel the hospitality in me. I extend my hand and introduce myself. He's kind enough to take my hand and shake it, and he ignores Joel who stands leaning against the far wall with his hands crossed across his chest. I'm thankful he's staying out of this.

"Nice to meet you-?" I prompt the man for his name, hoping and praying he's who I'm hoping.

"I'm Trevor." He walks behind the messy desk and leans forward on it, his weight being pressed down into his palms as he keeps his eyes trained on me.

"Trevor, it's a pleasure. Now I'm not going to waste your time here, I'm hoping there's a way we can help each other out." I push a stray piece of hair out of my face and maintain eye contact with him, noticing how his eyes travel all over my face and down my sweaty chest.

"How so?" His eyes snap back up to mine, narrowing every so slightly.

"I've been travelling for a while now and came across this group of raiders or something. They weren't like normal raiders though. No, these people all had the letter T carved into their skin." I fabricate my story in a way where it seems I'm oblivious to every shred of evidence in my bag. I want to see what he gives up about these people first before I start playing my cards.

"Okay?" He asks, not understanding what I'm getting at.

"Well, I found some Firefly tags in their camp. Seems like they were almost targeting you all." I lie to him again and notice his jaw twitch, but he recovers smoothly with a nod of his head.

"Interesting. Yeah, we've known there are some raiders about and some of our people have left. But, they haven't tried to attack us yet. Thanks for letting us know." He's not going to give anything up it seems. Either he doesn't know about the operation, or he's covering it up. In a desperate attempt for information, I ask one more question.

"Yeah of course. But there's nothing you know about them? Where they might be located? I'd really like to avoid crossing them again." I rub a hand up and down my arm like I'm scared of seeing them again. Trevor scratches the back of his neck,

"Well, no not really. Sorry." His answer is short and he glances down at the papers in front of him as he speaks. I notice a bead of sweat running down the side of his forehead and he makes no move to wipe it. Nodding my head, I quickly start forming a plan of my next line of questioning, pacing back and forth a few steps as my brain scrambles to come up with anything. I think I'm going to have to be bolder if I want the information I came here for.

"That's okay. Tell me Trevor, why would they have a note signed by the Fireflies in their possession?" My pacing ceases and Trevor's shoulders tense up. His gaze meets mine and I see a darkness in his eye. Now I might be onto something. He tries to recover his composure,

"What kind of note?" He asks me, slowly walking around to the other side of his desk. I take two small steps back and shrug,

"I don't know, most of it was burnt up. But I could read a little bit of it. The word immune was on it and QZs were mentioned. Didn't really get to make out a whole lot." I feign ignorance, trying to see what gets him talking. Trevor sits on the edge of the paper-covered desk, a hand on his chin.

As he thinks, my eyes glance up to look at one of the maps taped to the wall. I recognize it immediately as an exact copy of the one that's in my bag. My jaw sets tightly and I try to keep my look of indifference on my face. Trevor definitely knows, there's no way he doesn't. He shakes his head and his voice breaks the momentary silence,

"I really don't know about that one." He's shutting me down again, and I know I'm down to my last resort. The façade of kindness falls from my face and I know that sitting across from me is a man who knows all about the killing of innocent children. My fingers itch to grab the knife from my holster, but I refrain for now. I clear my throat and step towards Trevor this time, knowing I need to get under his skin. A photograph on his desk shows me how I might get him bothered.

"Well, maybe Marlene knows. I worked with her a little a few years ago but I heard she's out here now, she's pretty high up there in rank, she might have a clue." I lie again, knowing full well that she's dead. A photo of her lays amongst the documents on the desk, it looks like she's smiling in it. Trevor's eyes have turned almost black as he looks back up to me.

"Marlene is dead." My lips curve down into a frown,

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Do you know how she died?" I try to get into his head this way, make him mad about my questions and his dead associate. Trevor's knuckles turn white as he balls a hand into a fist and I see Joel shift out of the corner of my eye.

"She was murdered. She was out in Salt Lake City at the hospital and a maniac shot her." I fight to keep from looking to Joel. He's told me that he was with her when she died, but maybe he was withholding some other information about what happened.

"What was she doing out there at a hospital?" My voice almost cracks as I ask. I know my questions are getting off track, but there may be some sort of value knowing this information as well. Trevor shakes his head with a bitter laugh. We're locked in a staring match and I know he's onto me. He knows that I'm aware of more than I'm letting on and he's done playing the game. Which is fine, because I've grown tired of the game myself.

Within the blink of an eye, I grab the gun that's holstered on my thigh and point it towards him, flicking the safety off. Joel moves again out of the corner of my eye, but I keep my focus on the man in front of me. The only thing that's on my mind is getting as much as I can out of him. I repeat my question again, my tone becoming low and the man in front of me sighs.

"She was out there trying to make a cure. We were back in Boston together about a year ago and she found some girl that was bitten but never turned. Unfortunately for Marlene, she was injured and couldn't take the girl herself, so she hired someone else to get the girl from Boston to the Fireflies out west. I left as she was setting up the deal. My men who were there tell me that the man she hired gunned down everyone in that hospital to get that girl back from the surgeon. Then he shot Marlene and took off with the girl." My blood runs cold in my veins but I can't afford to lose my composure now, there's still stuff I need from him. My mind is working a hundred miles a minute, there's too much information to process at once. Too many things are coming to light and I can't focus on unpacking it all right now.

"So why do the Fireflies want the children in the QZs dead? And what do these other people have to do with it?" My finger twitches on the trigger, throwing all sense of secrecy out of the window. A twisted grin spreads across Trevor's face,

"Someone's gotta pay for Marlene, someone's gotta pay for jeopardizing our shot at a cure. I'm going to make sure they pay the same price she did. It's only fair, after all." I shake my head, not understanding what he means.

"Those children have nothing to do with what happened to Marlene." I say, my voice becoming louder and rougher. I step forward and press the gun to the man's head. He glares up at me and grits his teeth as he speaks,

"One of them does, and they'll kill all the children they can just to find her."

Before I can get another word in, there's a loud bang that resounds through the room and the man's blood is splattered all over my front. As if time were moving in slow motion, I look down to see the man collapsed on the floor, his blood draining out rapidly, pieces of his brains scattered on my shirt. I'm frozen to my spot and feel someone's arms wrap around me and push me back behind the desk.

Seconds later, the door swings open and gunfire sounds everywhere, echoing off the walls. I shake my head and come back to reality and realize that the Fireflies left in this building are all coming down on us. Something in my mind switches and it's like I'm back on patrol in the QZs, my movements are on autopilot.

I peek over the desk and quickly aim at a woman rushing in. My trigger finger twitches and I send a bullet through her neck. She gurgles and falls to the floor, but another Firefly is quick to take her place. They shoot at me, but I make my shots count. The way I'm positioned behind the desk gives me the upper hand, and I'm able to shoot the Fireflies as they enter the room before they can see me.

I lose count of how many bodies I shoot down without a second thought. The building is now eerily silent, there are no more footsteps coming up the stairs or down the hall. Carefully, I stand and peek outside the door with my gun drawn, confirming that there are no more.

Once I'm satisfied with the lack of Fireflies, I turn back and see the carnage. There are at least twenty people all piled on the floor, lifeless. My eyes drag from their bodies to the map on the wall, now splattered with blood.

With a reeling mind I leave the room and head back down the stairs. Trevor's words replay in my head over and over and over again and my palms get clammy, my stomach starts turning as more pieces of the puzzle begin hastily putting themselves together.

My hands push open the base's front doors and I breathe in the fresh air and stumble away from the building. There's a sturdy tree just off to the left and my feet drag over the pavement to reach it, chest heaving as I begin hyperventilating. I haven't killed a man in over three years and now I've just slaughtered a dozen. And if that's not bad enough, I think Joel might be a madman.

Quick and ragged breaths enter my body and I'm unable to get control of myself. What does this all mean? My thoughts are cut short as the base door opens again and Joel strolls out, rifle in hand. He meets my wide eyes and tilts his head to the side with an unreadable expression on his face.

Scrambling to move, I push myself off the tree and urge my feet to start running. I don't know where I'm going, but I need to get away from Joel. I sprint the fastest I can, but it's no match for his speed. His boots thud on the pavement as he comes after me, and he wraps a strong hand around my wrist to halt my running.

It feels like my shoulder is pulled out of the socket as I'm jolted to a stop. I turn around in his grasp and try to wrestle myself away, but I can't. He's too strong for me. Through watery eyes I see Joel's jaw set tight and I quickly come to terms that I might die here too.

#joel miller #joel miller hbo #joel miller tlou #joel miller the last of us #tlou #the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller series #joel tlou #joel the last of us #pedro pascal #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfic #the last of us series #tlou fic #tlou fanfic #tlou series

16 notes · View notes

unseededtoast · 6 days

Text

One Bright Morning | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Summary: After experiencing the most traumatic moment of your life, Spencer helps guide you through the darkness into one bright morning that changes the both of you. (Based off of "First Light" by Hozier)

Cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3

Word count: 8.8k

Warnings: Violence, angst, light smut. Poorly edited

a/n: Howdy y'all, this is my second Spencer oneshot based off a Hozier song and honestly at this point i think i might just create a Spencer fic for every song on Unreal Unearth. Anyways, here's my masterlist if you wanna check out my other stuff:)

"Hello?" You hear his voice as the door swings open, and the soft lighting from inside his apartment illuminates his figure as if he's an angel.

"Please." Is all you can say through your cries and he wastes no time before he's helping you inside of his apartment.

Your forehead is slick with sweat, your stomach tied into knots as you pace back and forth. Shaking hands push away the hair falling into your face and you know you have to do something soon, or the little girl is going to die. Your mind swims in all the information the team has collected about the unsub so far, trying to identify any leverage you can use in a last ditch effort to save the hostage's life.

"Does anybody have anything?" Your voice is thick with stress and tension, a bead of sweat rolls down your back. The quick pitter patter of your heart echoes in your ears and it's almost like a ticking time bomb.

"We've tried every angle we can think of." Morgan answers, equally as stressed out. But you can't accept that answer, there has to be something.

"What if I go in? Offer myself for her? He might think he can use me to get out of this situation." You're already taking off your bulletproof vest to carry out the mission, but Hotch puts a hand on your shoulder to stop you from taking it all the way off.

"No, it's too risky. We know he's suffering from hallucinations and if you walk in there he might just kill you." He explains, but you fight his hand off your shoulder. Maybe it's just the adrenaline pumping through your veins, but you can't understand why the team isn't doing more to save the girl.

"And if we don't do anything she's for sure going to die." Before he can protest, you shove your vest into his hands and make your way to the house across the street.

The team had tried to negotiate with the unsub, feeding him false promises of a safe getaway and immunity, but he hadn't taken them. He explained that in order for the victims soul's to be saved, they had to die before they could "commit an unforgivable sin". He's convinced he's saving their souls, but what he's actually doing is mutilating young girls in their own homes and leaving their bodies for their families to find. Unfortunately for him, you and the rest of the team had interrupted his salvation of this girl and unfortunately for the team, he had taken the girl hostage and is unwilling to let her go.

The house he's blockaded himself in is a typical, unassuming suburban home. The landscaping is manicured to perfection, the lawn is trimmed neatly, but behind the white door is a deranged murderer with a knife to an eight year old's throat. Your feet quickly carry you to the door and with heavy, shaky breaths, you knock on the door and speak to the unsub.

"I want to be saved." You tell him, hoping to appeal to his delusion. There's a loud crash in the house and you hear the girl cry out.

"Please, I want to be saved." You say with more urgency. Twisting the handle of the door, you slowly make your way in, not seeing the unsub or the little girl anywhere in immediate view. After a few seconds of silence, you hear the girl's muffled cries.

"I know you can save me. Please, help me." You beg, making your way towards the sound. As you round the corner into the kitchen, you see the unsub holding the knife directly over the girl's carotid artery. Your eyes dance from the blade to the psychopath holding it and see nothing but pure evil within him.

"Don't move another step. I know you're one of them." He yanks the girl back, further into his hold and you put your hands out in front of you to show him you're unarmed. Your head shakes, denying his claim.

"They're wrong. They don't understand the mission." Another small step is taken towards the man, and for a second you see his resolve starting to falter.

"No, they don't. I'm just trying to save them!" He cries out, seeming to be in agony. Another step is taken towards him. You're only ten feet away from him, if things keep going well you might just be able to get the girl from his grasp.

"Save me. Please, I want to be saved." You boldly take two more steps forward but freeze on the spot when he jerks back with the girl, pressing the blade more tightly to her neck.

"You can't be saved. No, not you. You've already committed an unforgivable sin. But she can still be saved. Yes, she can still be saved." His gaze moves from you to the crying girl, his voice becoming more stable.

You see a sick smirk crawl its way onto the man's face, and he glances at you from the corner of his eye before he readjusts his grip on the blade. As if time suddenly begins moving in slow motion, you see him tilt his head back like he's experiencing euphoria and his arm makes one clean swiping motion. Reaching out in a last ditch effort, you try to still his motion, but it's too late. You were too late.

Your body knocks into the man's and sends him tumbling to the ground. The fountain of blood released from the girl's neck splatters your face, she chokes and gurgles as she falls to the floor. Ignoring the man, you collapse beside the girl, holding your hands to her neck in a frenzied attempt of saving her life. You get tunnel vision, the only thing you can see is the girl and how the light slowly dims in her eyes.

At some point, you must have screamed out and alerted the others, because several pairs of hands are dragging you away from the girl. You fight them with all the strength you have left, reaching out for her small body, desperately trying to help her as her crimson blood drips through your fingers.

A team of EMTs rushes into the house past you and you see them leaning over the girl before you're taken away from the scene. You feel your chest tighten, your heartbeat race, and you're not able to form a coherent thought. All that consumes your mind is the little girl and how you were right there. You were right there and you still weren't able to save her.

-----

Days later you walk back into the office, running on maybe five hours of sleep since the incident. You had been given instructions to take three days off before coming back in and you know the team had to deal with the fallout of your shortcoming. In fact, you walked in with your badge and gun in hand, fully prepared to be suspended.

The atmosphere in the office is noticeably tense. Everyone is quiet with their heads down doing their jobs. Without greeting your team like normal, you duck your head and make a straight route towards your desk, trying to make as little sound as possible when you take your seat. Placing your gun and badge beside your computer, you see a single file laying on your desk. There are usually about ten.

Trying your best to keep your composure, you open the file and are met with a blank incident report. Unable to think about filling it out, all you can do is blink back at the white paper. What do they expect you to say? Thankfully, you're ripped from going down that rabbit hole by a hand touching your shoulder. Looking over, you see Hotch with a somber look on his face.

"Why don't you follow me?" His voice is quiet, and you agree wordlessly, following him into his office. As you walk through the office, you try to commit it to memory just in case this is your last day here.

Once you reach Hotch's office, you take a seat in front of his desk and wait for him to say something. You're keenly aware that you deserve to be suspended and reprimanded for you actions, or lack thereof, seeing as how you blatantly ignored orders.

"None of us blame you." His words shock your system, eyebrows drawing tightly together and lips falling apart in confusion.

"But-" You try to condemn yourself, but he holds up a finger to stop your words.

"All of us here have lost someone. Some more than others. It comes with the territory of the job, this is only your second year and you have a lot to learn. But with that said, you did ignore orders to not engage. For that, we cannot let you back in the field until you're deemed fit again. You're to stay here and help from the office while we go to case sites." Your mouth feels dry as he speaks, and you can't understand why your punishment isn't more harsh. An eight year old girl died because of you and all you're getting is a slap on the wrist?

"But-" You try to convince him again that you deserve worse, but he cuts you off again.

"Don't say anything. Go back to your desk and do your job." He orders you away, and this time you listen to him. Your walk back to your desk is a blur, mind fuzzy with questions you don't have the answer to. You feel several pairs of eyes on you, but you ignore them and go back to staring at the blank white paper that waits for you.

-----

Hours pass by, and you've made no progress on the report. You thought that maybe a change of scenery would help, and so you relocated to the break room with only the paper and a single pen. The team is already preparing to leave on their next assignment, and all except you and Spencer are going. Spencer had volunteered to stay behind and help Garcia, which he did on occasion.

You hear the team approaching the break room, preparing to leave, and so you quickly grab the pen and act like you're writing something useful. They come in and grab last minute snacks, telling you that they'll be back in a few days and you give them the best smile you can muster and watch with a tired soul as they walk out to catch the next monster.

"You know that's not true, right?" A voice behind you startles you, causing you to jump and drag a line of black ink across the paper. Spencer is standing behind you, coffee cup in hand.

"What?" You ask, not having the slightest idea of what he means. He takes a seat beside you at the table, his eyes locked onto the paper you had been scribbling your thoughts on.

"What you're writing. It's not true." You look from his face down to the paper to see what exactly you wrote. You're not entirely sure yourself.

She died right in front of me because I was slow. I was too slow and she's gone. She was right there. Right there.

The words accurately reflect the rhetoric that's been repeating itself inside your mind around the clock. You can't seem to find the lie he so obviously sees. You've been working with Spencer for two years now, and his mind still amazes you. But even geniuses are wrong sometimes. With a shake of your head, you bite the inside of your cheek and stare at the words.

"It's exactly what happened though." You confess, clearly remembering how the man had time to enjoy slitting the girl's throat. And you were still too slow.

"You tried to feed into his delusions, it was the only play we had left. And you were probably the best one to approach him, seeing as how you most closely resembled his victims." He explains with a wave of his free hand. Your eyes meet his and you see that he's being sincere. You've never been good at expressing your emotions, and so you try to deflect the ones bubbling up inside you.

"Spencer, are you saying I look like a ten year old girl?" You know he's only trying to help you deal with your fresh trauma, but you can't help yourself from making the comment. Used to your antics, his mouth flattens into a straight line.

"You do not look like a ten year old girl but seeing as how you're the youngest one on the team it was the best we shot we had." He follows up his explanation. You appreciate the effort he's making to make you feel better, you just wish it worked. With a sigh, you crumple the paper up and toss it across the room, barely missing the trash can.

"Don't say anything, I'm getting it." You preemptively dismiss the comment you know he's about to make. No matter how many times you try to sink a paper ball into the trash, you always end up missing somehow, and Spencer is always there to keep track of just how many you've missed.

"One hundred forty three." He quickly says before quickly moving out of the break room. A ghost of a smile finds its way onto your face and you pick up the pen you left on the table, going to search for a new report page.

-----

Unfortunately, by the end of the day, the report still had not been completed. You're unable to look at this case objectively, and you entertain the idea of asking Spencer to do it for you. But that would still mean you have to tell him what happened, and you know there's no chance those words can find their way out of your mouth.

The clock on the wall indicates that the work day is over, and so you close the blank paper inside the brown folder, vowing that tomorrow you will finish it. You don't want to stay here, but you also don't want to go home. But you guess it doesn't matter, no matter where you are you know the nightmares will find you in the dark.

Everyone leaves the office, save for you and Spencer, who's working over to finish his case backlog. Though in your two years here you've never known him to have a backlog. His insane memory is always allowing him to fly through reports three times faster than the rest of the team. But you're too tired, physically and emotionally, to delve into why he has a backlog now.

Realizing you've been staring at your desk for the past thirty minutes, you decide you can't stay here overnight. Standing from your desk you rub the drowsiness from your eyes and weakly smile to Spencer, who looked over to see what you were doing.

"See you bright and early." Your voice is soft as you push your chair back in.

"Wait, let me at least walk you out to your car. It's dark out there now." He says, standing from his own desk. You shake your head, not wanting to inconvenience him.

"That's okay Spencer, I'll be fine. But thank you." You try to dismiss him, but he's already got his jacket slung over his shoulders.

"I was just finishing up anyways." He says, and you're skeptical of how much of his statement is the truth. But you don't fight it, and let him accompany you to your car. After hours the office is eerily quiet, and you find yourself being thankful he wanted to walk you out.

"At least let me take you home, as a thank you." You say as you two walk out of the office doors into the parking lot. The chilly fall air infiltrates the thin shirt you're wearing, your breath evaporating in the air in a translucent white cloud.

"Sure, thank you." He says with a smile and the two of you climb into your car.

Spencer gives you directions to his apartment and you find out he only lives two blocks away from you. How you had never known this is a mystery. But had you have known you would've made the effort to offer him a ride more often. You park your car just outside of the building and look over at him, his hazel eyes illuminated beautifully by the amber glow of the streetlamp.

"I live just down the street." You break the silence as he unbuckles the seatbelt.

"And after all this time we've never seen each other outside of work." He points out and you smile,

"Well, this counts, right?" He lets out a small laugh and goes to open the door, but stops short of swinging it open. His lips open and close a few times, like he can't decide what he wants to say before he looks deep into your eyes once more, like he can see your mind through your pupils.

"You know, if it ever gets to be too much to deal with, you can tell me. I know how torturous thoughts can become." You're at a loss for words, but manage to nod your head. Spencer isn't known for openly extending empathy to very many people, in fact, you've only seen him do it twice so far. It's a break from the normal dynamic you two share and it throws you off for a second.

"Yeah, thank you." You say as he opens the door, leaving your passenger seat. He waves goodbye before he enters the building and you make sure he gets in before leaving for your own apartment, his words lingering in your head. What had happened to him to be able to understand such torment?

-----

A girl cries in front of you, her crimson tears flowing down her face and puddling on the floor. She's begging you to help her, to save her. Each time she's within reach, she slips right through your fingers and her agonizing screams ring inside your head.

Just like last night, and the night before that, and the night before that, you're awoken with a start. Panicked eyes stare down at your hands, expecting to see them coated in a thick layer of bright red blood, only to find that they've been scrubbed clean. In fact, they've been scrubbed so viciously that there are scratches from your nails evident on your knuckles.

Your head falls into your hands and you take in a shaky breath. The clock on your bedside table shows you that you've only managed to get two hours of sleep. But hey, it's more than last night so you guess you can't complain. Dragging yourself out of bed, you decide to get a shower, knowing that you're not going back to sleep.

As the scalding water trickles over your body, your mind is once again a chaotic mess. The girl's screams echo in your mind accompanied with questions about your effectiveness as an agent. If you were unable to save a girl within your reach, how good of an agent can you really be? How many more people will die as a result of your incompetence? Dwelling on that answer is almost enough to send you into an episode, but the hot water runs out and the cold shocks your system.

You step out and wrap yourself in a towel, but are unable to shake the thoughts away that easily. If you couldn't save that girl, how many do you expect to save? If you couldn't save her, then you won't be able to save others. And if that's the case, why are you still on the team? Your purpose is to protect and save people who are targeted by deranged killers, and if you can't fulfill that purpose, then what exactly are you doing? Wouldn't it just be better to give up your spot for someone who's more competent? Someone who can actually save people?

Your body moves as if it's been put on autopilot as you get ready for the day, hours earlier than what is necessary. Instead of holing up like a prisoner in your own home, you pull your shoes on and grab your keys, deciding to go for a walk and then head into work early.

It's still too early out for most people to be heading into work, so the streets are practically yours for now. A dense fog has settled across the roads and the crickets chirp all around. It's almost serene. Your feet begin wandering down streets with no real path or destination in mind, the coolness of the air helps keep you awake.

For about an hour you meander the streets until the clock on your phone shows that it's almost time to leave for work. When you reach your car, your gaze freezes on your passenger seat. Though you commute to work alone every day, the car feels empty now.

You don't drive yourself to work right away. Instead, you find yourself parked outside of Spencer's building, waiting for him to walk out so you can offer him a ride. It doesn't take long before he's walking towards your car, confusion clear on his face.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, opening the passenger door and getting in.

"I just figured you might enjoy a break from public transit." You smile softly at him before merging into traffic and taking the two of you to work.

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence for the remainder of the trip and once you park in front of the office building, you stop him from getting out by reaching a hand over the middle console and resting it on his bicep.

"How did you know that I was having bad thoughts?" Your voice is raw and you're sure you look exhausted. You're sure if your superiors found out about these thoughts that your punishment would be extended, but you're far too curious. He sighs,

"Persistent intrusive thoughts about a traumatic event are common. In fact, these thoughts can lead to insomnia and a change in normal daily functions." He explains like he's reading the words straight from a textbook. But you know it's more than that, it has to be. The way he offered his help yesterday was more reminiscent of someone who's lived through something similar. Empathy cannot be learned from a book.

"Right. Do they ever go away?" You don't push him to give you any answers about his own trauma, but you desperately want to know that these thoughts will eventually go away. Spencer glances down at your hand gripping his jacket,

"Sometimes they leave for a while. But, they don't ever leave forever." His answer is not what you had hoped for, but you know he wouldn't lie to you. You release him from your grip and clear your throat, turning your car off and getting out.

You know if the roles were reversed that you would suggest he seek out professional help. It's only the most logical way to deal with this sort of thing, but you know that you can't face a doctor and tell them about how you relive that girl's death every night. They'd surely diagnose you with something and you'd be kicked off the team.

But maybe being dismissed from this job would be the best thing for you. If you're unable to move on from this incident, how can you expect to function like everything is fine? And if something like this happens again, what will happen? Will you crumble completely?

As you step into the elevator, you can't help but wonder if the loss is worth it. Not only the loss of victims, but the loss of yourself as well. You feel the change within you, like a piece of you is fractured beyond repair.

Spencer and you part ways and begin your workload for the day. The blank white paper still waits for you. ----- The rest of the team had made it to the next site and had called Spencer and Garcia for their help. Of course, you used this as an excuse to abandon the report on your desk, insisting that you can be of some help to them. They're both geniuses and you know there's nothing you can do that they can't, but they let you join them anyways.

"Look for white males, aged twenty to forty, who recently experienced a severe head trauma." Derek speaks through the speaker and you watch in amazement at how fast Garcia is able to filter through hospital records.

"I've got one. Sending it over now." She drags and drops the file into a message and sends it off to the team.

"What would I do without you, baby girl?" You can practically hear Morgan's smile through the phone. His playful ways with Garcia had landed everyone in a presentation about inappropriate work relationships last year and you can clearly see they disregarded every piece of information shared there.

The phone clicks and goes silent, leaving the three of us crammed into Garcia's office and you can't help but feel like you're inconveniencing her and Spencer. You stand from your seat and dismiss yourself, telling them you're going to work on a report and to holler if they need you. You know they won't, but at least you offered.

Sitting back down at your desk, you grab your pen and convince yourself that you're going to write at least one good sentence. You need to have this done by the time Hotch gets back and at this rate you won't even have it done by Christmas.

Taking a deep breath, you tap the pen against the desk before putting it to the paper. You hold it there for so long that an ink blob begins bleeding through the document, and so you start moving it across the paper.

At approximately 4:47 pm EST on October 16, 2023 the Behavioral Analysis Unit from Quantico, Virginia, responded to a hostage situation that resulted in two deaths.

You stare at the sentence you had managed to write and wonder if you can just leave the report as is. Technically it is what happened. But you know that you have to fill in the details. Perhaps that part of it can wait just a little longer.

Deciding you've put in all the effort you can manage for now without slipping into another downward spiral or gruesome memories, you decide to go waste some time in the break room.

There's not much to do, but you make it seem like organizing the coffee mugs in the cupboard is the most vital mission you've encountered to date. And thankfully it keeps your mind distracted from everything falling apart inside your mind.

-----

Garcia and Spencer don't call on you to help them for the rest of the day, much to your dismay. You were hoping they'd at least take pity on you and let you do something insignificant. But perhaps they don't even trust you with the most menial tasks.

You sit at your desk at the end of the day and see others leave the offices, bidding each other goodbye for the weekend. The rest of the team will be back on Monday and you still only have one sentence written in your report that's sure to exceed ten pages if you do it correctly.

"Hey, staying late again?" You hear Spencer ask as he returns from Garcia's office. Spinning around in your seat to face him, you nod your head.

"Yeah." You reply without much enthusiasm, glancing back at the paper. He must think you're completely inadequate at your job because you've been unable to complete a single report in two days. If he's been secretly tasked with keeping tabs on your progress for Hotch, surely there is no good news to report.

"Why don't you take it with you? Work on it over the weekend?" He suggests, and it's not a bad idea. It would surely beat sticking around an empty office all weekend. But truthfully, you're not sure an empty house will be much better.

"You're probably right." You pick up the file and get ready to leave the office with Spencer, who has his belongings in his arms. The two of you walk down to the parking lot and he starts heading towards the bus station.

"Hey, I can take you." You offer, stopping him in his tracks. He looks between you and your car, almost like he's not sure if he should take you up on your offer. But eventually, he walks over and takes a seat in the passenger seat.

"Thank you." He says, fastening his seatbelt. You back out of the parking spot and make your way towards his apartment. Thankfully he says nothing about the fact you took the longest route possible.

"Any fun weekend plans?" You ask him as you pull up to the curb, stalling to keep here as long as possible, so that you're not left alone with your mind. He rests back in the seat slightly and puffs out some air as he shakes his head.

"What's fun for me doesn't always fit other people's definition." There's a small smirk on his face and you know he's either about to devour an entire book series in two days or learn an entirely new skill. He's always looking for ways to expand his knowledge, and you admire that about him.

"Well, as long as you enjoy it then who cares?" You shoot back, watching as he gathers his bag up in his hands and opens the door.

"Apparently our coworkers. But thank you for the ride, see you Monday." He bids you goodbye and you watch as he walks into the building. You don't leave for your home right away, instead you lean your forehead against the steering wheel and become frustrated with yourself. Since when are you scared of being alone with your own thoughts?

-----

"Save me. Save me. Save me. SAVE ME!" The girl screams in your face, blood dripping out from her mouth and onto your body. Your hands desperately try to stop the bleeding, but it's no use and soon her chanting ceases and she crumples to the floor. Her dull eyes stare widely at the ceiling and you're left covered in her blood. You're acutely aware of how it's sinking into the crevices of your skin, drying in your hair, becoming part of you.

Just like every night for the past week you awake from the nightmare. A sheer layer of sweat covers your body and you can't take it anymore. These nightmares are driving you out of your mind. You haven't slept for more than three hours straight over the past week and you start feeling like you'd do anything to be released from your own thoughts.

You push yourself out of bed and into your bathroom where you splash cool water on your face. You're well aware that you're getting into a very bad headspace, and being alone is doing nothing to help the situation. If you keep heading down this path with no help, there's no saying how much of yourself you will lose. Or what your thoughts will drive you to do.

Bloodshot eyes stare back at you in the mirror and you hardly recognize yourself. The dark circles under your eyes make you look like a cheap halloween decoration, your cheeks are sullen. You look miserable. You are miserable. Tearing your gaze away from yourself, you put some decent clothes on and grab your keys off the dining room table.

The air outside is crisp, dew gently rests on the blades of grass and the moonlight illuminates the sidewalks. The nocturnal animals sing their songs, their tunes carrying throughout the night. You almost feel a part of them, the nighttime animals, as you just meander the streets for another night with no destination set.

You turn down an empty street and hear the thumping of music approaching from the main road. Probably teenagers enjoying their weekend night without parental supervision. The music gets closer and closer and you see their headlights start casting a shadow of yourself on the sidewalk.

"Catch!" You hear a boy yell from the car out of the window, and you turn to see what's going on.

Before you can process what's happening, you feel something collide with your chest and your skin becomes wet. Looking down you see that they had thrown a drink at you, some sort of syrupy mess but you're not concerned with what it is; just what it looks like. Dark red syrup covers your hands and your shirt and you can't stop yourself from starting to hyperventilate.

Your chest begins rapidly heaving, your hands start shaking and it feels like your knees are going to give out. It looks too real, and it's on your skin. It's seeping into your skin and it's on your clothes. And it's on your face and in your hair. It's everywhere.

"No, no, no no no no.." Your repeat to yourself, trying to rid your skin of the syrup, but all it does it smear and glide across your skin, spreading itself all over you. Your nails claw at your hands trying to get rid of it but it just won't leave. Panicked tears fall from your eyes and you look around, seeing that you're all alone in the middle of the street.

Without thinking, you start moving towards a familiar building. Your body is on autopilot and it feels as if you're practically flying down the street. It could've taken you twenty minutes to get there, but it felt like five seconds. Once you're on the doorstep your sticky, red-laden fist knocks on the door. You can hear your rattling breaths as if it's from a distance and your vision begins to contort, making you dizzy. You knock again, having enough knowledge that you need him to open the door before something worse happens.

"Hello?" You hear his voice as the door swings open, and the soft lighting from inside his apartment illuminates his figure as if he's an angel.

"Please." Is all you can say through your cries and he wastes no time before he's helping you inside of his apartment.

He takes the jacket off your shoulders and helps you step out of your shoes, a vivid look of worry plastered all over his face.

"What happened?" His voice is concerned as he places his hand on your back, leading you into the kitchen. He wets a cloth and gently starts to wipe the red from your trembling hands. With each pass of the cloth, your skin regains its natural color and you feel your breathing begin to level back out. It's leaving your skin, it's washing off.

"I was outside and someone threw something. And then I don't know what happened, it's like my brain just snapped and I couldn't control myself, all I knew is that I had to get here." You try to explain it to him the best way you can, still feeling an adrenaline buzz. You half expect him to give you some clinical diagnosis, but he remains quiet.

His warm hand envelopes one of yours as he wipes the remaining syrup from your arms. Your face starts to feel stiff from the drying tears, and your eyes move from your skin to Spencer's face, who is standing less than a foot away, tenderly cleansing your skin. Guilt washes over you as you realize that you've just interrupted his weekend, intruded on his free time.

As your senses start to clarify, the guilt intensifies and you pull your hand away from his grasp. You can't believe you actually ran all the way here because some teenage kid threw something at you. How juvenile. He takes a step back from you and scans over your body, sending a self-conscious pang down your spine.

"I um, I'm sorry Spencer. I shouldn't have come here and I'm sorry if I interrupted your weekend." You tumble over your own words and go to leave his apartment, already mentally kicking yourself for knocking on his door. His hand on your shoulder stops you from walking to the front door, and he gives you a certain look you've never seen on him before. His eyes are tender and soft.

"Don't be sorry, I'm glad you came. I told you I was here to help." His voice is kind and gentle, and you're grateful for him.

"I can go back home, I think I'll be okay." You can't help but feel as if you're still inconveniencing him and make one more move towards the door which gets stopped by him again. He shakes his head,

"No, it's okay. Go sit on the couch and I'll get you some clean clothes to change into. What kind of tea would you like?" Your heart swells at his tenderhearted words. Your feet shuffle against the hardwood floor and you position yourself at the edge of his leather couch, careful to not get any of the stickiness on it.

"Um, anything is fine, thank you." Your throat begins feeling scratchy, probably from how violently you sobbed the entire way over here. He nods before disappearing into his apartment and your eyes travel around his place. You've never been here before and you're curious as to what he's like, what his tastes are.

It's not far off from what you expected. The color scheme is simple, the walls an earthy green and the lamp in the corner emits a soft amber glow. In true Spencer fashion, there's also a multitude of books, both laying on a coffee table and adorning bookshelves. It's calming.

He walks back into the room and hands you a change of clothes, which feel warm, as if they just came from the dryer. Spencer shows you to the bathroom and tells you that he'll be in the kitchen while you get changed. You strip from your clothes and try to fold them as neatly as you can, not wanting to make more of a mess in his home. He had given you a simple sweatshirt and sweatpants, which you already know are going to be too long, but you're thankful nonetheless.

The sweatshirt easily falls over your head and it smells like fresh laundry and Spencer. You breathe in the smell and it makes you feel secure. And just like you thought, the pants are far too long, but you roll up the legs and make it work. Before you join him in the kitchen, you try to rinse out the red syrup from your hair, knowing that if you don't get it out now that it'll be ten times harder to wash when it dries.

Once you're satisfied, you open the door and quietly walk back down the hall to the kitchen, where Spencer is standing with two mugs in his hands. He looks over you once and offers you one of the drinks. Steam rises from the top and you smell the chamomile. The warmth of the drink soothes your throat, and you follow Spencer back into his living room, resuming your position on his couch. He sits at the other side and you look over at him, feeling an intense sense of gratitude.

"Thank you, Spencer." You whisper, not wanting to disturb the stillness. He places his mug on the coffee table beside an open book and his lips curl into a soft smile.

"Anytime. I know you'd do the same for me." He says and you nod, knowing he's right. You open and close your mouth a few times, trying to find just the right words.

"I don't think I'm okay. I don't feel safe being alone with my thoughts. I can't sleep without seeing her." You admit to him, no longer caring if he reports this to Hotch on Monday. You chew on your bottom lip with anxiety, feeling exhausted from suffering. Expecting to find him looking at you, analyzing you, you delay meeting his gaze only to see that he looks empathetic.

"I know what you mean. I barely slept for two weeks when mine started." His voice is raspy, yet gentle. Your head shakes as you take another sip of warm tea.

"How do you deal with it?" You're desperate for answers, knowing you can't keep functioning this way. He sighs,

"One day at a time. I put off confiding in someone for a long time, probably too long. But this isn't something to deal with alone." The two of you lock eyes, and for the first time since the incident, you almost feel at ease.

"Am I going to be kicked off the team?" There's worry evident in your voice, and you're scared of his answer.

"No. If they got rid of everyone who has dealt with trauma from the job there would be no behavioral analysis unit." He says with a small smile, trying to lighten the heavy mood. You take another sip of tea and allow yourself to relax into the leather of his couch. His presence alone is enough to make you feel safe.

"Are you going to tell the others?" You ask, looking down into the tea, watching it swirl gently around the ceramic. He readjusts on the couch.

"No." He says, much to your surprise, but you're thankful he's not reporting back to Hotch about how you've been doing.

The two of you let the conversation fall back into a silence, and you finish off the tea. Your body feels relaxed and warm, your eyelids begin to feel heavy. Leaning back into the comfortable cushions, your eyes close and you take a deep breath, thankful for the little moment of peace. You're not sure how much time passes, but you feel Spencer tapping you on the shoulder. Fluttering your eyes open you see him standing beside you.

"Follow me." He quietly instructs, gesturing for you to go with him down the hall. Without thinking of why, you blindly follow his orders. He leads you into a dark room, his hand on the small of your back to guide you through the shadows. Spencer sits you down on a bed and an uneasy feeling settles in your stomach, you can't let him do this for you.

"Stay here tonight, I'll be in the living room." His hand leaves your back but you reach out and grab his wrist before he can leave.

"No, Spencer, this is your home. I can't." You tell him and stand from his bed, which is admittedly very comfortable. He turns to face you fully and sits you back on the bed, his hands on your shoulders.

"Please?" He asks, and you're not sure why he's being so generous. He's already done more than enough for you tonight, and now he's giving you his bed. The man doesn't like to shake peoples' hands because of germ transfer, and here he is letting you stay in such an intimate place of his? You can't wrap your head around it.

Though you feel sleepy, there's an uneasy feeling in the back of your head and you know what will happen if you go to sleep; you'll see her again. You reach your hands to rest atop of his on your shoulders and look up at him through the darkness, just barely able to make out his features.

"Stay with me." You whisper and let his hands go so that he doesn't feel trapped. In the darkness you see his shoulders tense, and you wish you could take your words back. But to your surprise, he nods his head and makes his way around to the other side of the bed. He pulls the covers back and slowly gets in, and you lay down, keeping a respectable distance between the two of you.

Your heart pounds in your chest and you reach across the soft blankets for his hand, needing it to ground you, to remind you that you're not here alone. His larger hand engulfs yours and his thumb traces soft circles on the back of your hand. Your eyes close and before you understand what's happening, you fall asleep.

-----

Bright, almost blinding, sunlight breaking through curtains stirs you awake and you open your eyes to find that you're not in your own room. Your mind takes a moment to remember where you are and your muscles relax when you realize where you are. But the relaxation is short-lived as you realize that it's not a pillow in front of your face, that you're in fact resting your forehead against Spencer's chest, your hand still entwined with his.

A moment of pure fear strikes you and you try to untangle yourself from him without disturbing him. Surely if he woke up and saw this he'd be uncomfortable. Gently, you try to extract your hand from his, but instead of being able to separate, he squeezes your hand tighter. Your eyes trail up from your hands to his face, seeing that he's already opened his eyes.

"I'm sorry I don't, I didn't mean-" You try to manage the fallout of your actions, but he shushes you.

"It's okay. How did you sleep?" His voice is deliciously raspy, and it distracts you from answering the question for just a second longer than it should've.

"Um, good. I didn't see her." You admit and lean back so that you can more clearly see his face. His curly hair is disheveled and his eyes are still clouded with drowsiness. His soft, pink lips turn upwards into a smile.

"That's great." He says and closes his eyes once more, keeping your hand in his. Your tense body eases once more as you realize that he's not uncomfortable. You know him well enough by now to understand that if he were uncomfortable, he wouldn't still be here.

You rest your forehead against his chest again, savoring the warm and comforting smell of him. The two of you are entangled with one another under the cozy blankets, and you're perfectly content with staying just like this for as long as possible.

As you drift back off into a sleep, you feel Spencer move around and feel his soft lips press a delicate kiss to your forehead. Instinctually, you lean into him, nuzzling your nose into the space where his neck meets his shoulder.

-----

Sometime during the afternoon, the two of you decide to get out of bed. You're very aware that a rosy color adorns your face, feeling flustered from whatever transpired between you and Spencer. You had always been attracted to him, not just for his looks, but also his intelligence, but you never thought he'd reciprocate those feelings. But after last night and this morning, you can't help but wonder what's actually happening.

The two of you sit across from each other at the dining table, drinking coffee and eating mixed berries. You catch him stealing glances at you, and he catches you doing the same. You're too afraid to bring it up, scared that whatever is happening will be dismantled. So instead you're perfectly content just enjoying the moment.

After breakfast, you move into the living room where he picks up his book from last night and you pick one of them off his shelf. The synopsis sounds interesting, and so you curl up on his couch with it. Unlike last night, you no longer feel like you're intruding on his space, it almost feels natural to just coexist with one another on this Saturday morning.

He finishes the book in record time, and you had only reached page twenty of yours. You watch as he files the book away on his shelf, and instead of reaching for another, he trains his gaze on you. Your fingers close the front cover of the book, waiting for him to say something.

"You said you didn't see her last night, right?" He asks, breaking the silence. You nod your head,

"I didn't see her last night." You confirm and he smiles, joining you on the couch. He's sitting so close that your knees brush against each other and it sends a warm feeling up your spine.

"It's one of the harder parts of the job, I think. Nobody tells you about this side of it when you join. And nobody really talks about it either, everyone would just prefer to suffer in silence so as not to be perceived as weak. But without finding an outlet, it'll eat you alive." He speaks, resting his hand atop your knee. Your eyes stay glued to his hand as you add onto his statement.

"I considered leaving the team because I felt like I was going insane. I thought that if I couldn't save that girl, then what good am I to anyone else?" You reach out for his hand and he looks over to you, hazel eyes shining with an unfamiliar light in them.

"It's hard, but you can't focus on those you lose. You have to remind yourself of how many you save. To get yourself out of that darkness of guilt, you just have to remember the ones that are alive and well because of you. You've been on the team for two years now and you've already saved countless people, both directly and indirectly. Don't let the job strip you of your humanity." He tells you, looking deep into your eyes. You swallow, digesting his words and your eyes are unable to look away from him.

"It's so hard though. She was just a child." You say with exasperation. He squeezes his hand on your knee in reassurance.

"She was, but so many children get to live because you stopped him." His voice is sincere and your eyes water at his words. Your mind conjures images of children with families, alive and healthy.

Spencer raises a hand to the side of your face, and you lean into his touch. His thumb comes up and brushes a lone tear from the corner of your eye before gently stroking your cheek. You reach out and pull him into you, wrapping your arms around his neck as he circles his arms around your waist. He hold you tight, and you never want to let go. Spencer is warm, comforting, and you know that from this moment forward, you won't be able to survive without him.

Pulling away from the embrace, you rest your forehead against his, the two of you meeting each other's eyes with parted lips. Your hands find their way to the sides of his face, and you bring your lips to his. His hands hold your waist, keeping you in place as you move against each other in perfect harmony.

One of your hands finds its way to his curly hair and you rake your fingers through it, eliciting a soft moan from him. Heat ignites within you and you push your body closer to him, unable to get enough. His skin is soft under your touch and you try to memorize the way it feels, just in case this never happens again.

His hands move to map out the curve of your waist and your breathing gets heavier with desire. You move one of your legs across his lap, straddling him. He breaks the kiss first and holds you upright on his lap, looking over your body that's still concealed by his clothes. Deep in your soul, you know that this is more than just a random act of lust.

You lean in to kiss him again and you help his hands remove the sweatshirt from your body. The air is chilly against your skin and you shiver. Spencer kisses your lips and trails down to your neck, and you're unable to contain your breathy moan. Your body aches with desire to have him all over you.

His hands map out every inch of your body, taking the time to memorize the way you feel underneath him and how you respond to his tender touch. The two of you take your time to make each other feel good, to make each other feel loved and understood. There's no rush to your movements, and you're perfectly content taking as long as you want to touch him, to feel his warm skin on yours as you move in tandem, the two of you becoming one.

You treat each other as if you're both made of precious glass, appreciating the fragility of the moment. The two of you soak in every moan, every breath, every kiss from the other, and you've never felt more alive. With each movement you find a new way to appreciate his beauty. His beauty is in the tenderness of his touch, the colors of his eyes, the pinkness of his lips. Every inch of him is beautiful, and you know that nothing else on this Earth can ever begin to compare.

Spencer rests his forehead against yours, the two of you out of breath and sensitive. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead as he moves beside you, cradling you in his arms and placing delicate kisses to your warm skin. The two of you hold on to each other as if the other would cease to exist if you let go.

Without having to utter a single word, you know that the two of you will never have to face this life alone again.

#spencer reid #mgg #spencer reid oneshot #criminal minds fanfic #spencer x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid

343 notes · View notes

unseededtoast · 13 days

Text

Shadow of Obsession | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Part Two

Series summary: In which you find that love is an obsession that can quickly spiral out of control.

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted!

Part One

"And for a glimpse of her, I'd run to the ends of the Earth."

You wake before the sun rises, your mind still an entangled web of thoughts from the night before. Rubbing your eyes, you quickly remember that Spencer stayed over and you at least owe him breakfast. You know that the futon isn't the most comfortable, especially not for someone his size. And though you had told him at least two more times before bed that he didn't have to stay, he was adamant that he didn't mind. And plus, it's not the first time he's stayed over and you hope it isn't the last. It's nice to be able to wake up and have someone there. Things can get lonely sometimes.

With sleep still heavy in your eyes, you walk to the kitchen and decide to make pancakes; something simple yet sweet enough to satiate Spencer's sweet tooth. Plus it's a good excuse to use the strawberries in your fridge, they're about to go bad in a few days.

It doesn't take long before the pancakes are ready and the smell wakes Spencer. You try to hide your smile as he saunters to the table, his hair messy from the night. It's endearing, how casual he is when it's just the two of you. Usually Spencer is guarded to some extent, but when it's just the two of you, there's nothing to hide. You had seen each other at extreme lows and celebrated the highs together for years.

"These are so good." He says as he goes to take another bite. You're still not sure how he's so thin considering his diet is likely 70% sugar. And you've often thought that if things don't work out with the BAU that you could find employment at Spencer's personal chef.

"Take as many berries as you want." You nudge the container over to him, hoping he takes more so that they don't go to waste. Thankfully he reaches in for another handful of them.

You finish your breakfast before he does, and you try to hide the yawns from him. But unfortunately, he can read you just a little too well. Before he even opens his mouth to ask a question you see him frown and his eyebrows draw close.

"How'd you sleep?" He finally asks, breaking the momentary silence. You contemplate lying for only a split second but realize it wouldn't be worth the argument.

"Not well. My mind just kept racing." You tell him, to which his frown deepens. He eats another strawberry before he answers.

"I've been there before. It's easy to fixate on something and obsess over it. But we'll find out who sent them, Monday morning." His tone of finality puts you at ease, and you hope he's right. Even if he thinks this endeavor is silly, you know he will help you see it through, that's just how you two are.

You offer him a soft thanks and let the room fall back into a comfortable silence. And for the first time ever you find yourself anxious for a Monday morning.

-----

The air is crisp as you walk into work Monday, your footsteps are quick and your heart pounds, eager to get some answers. Your bag slung over your shoulder hits your back with every step, exacerbating the nerves. Before Spencer left on Sunday evening, he had assured you that he would go with you to ask the receptionist and you hope he's already in the office waiting on you, for you're not sure if you have the strength to wait for him.

When the elevator dings you rush into the office, but your mood is instantly turned sour. Something just isn't right. You feel Derek's eyes on you, you see Emily peek at you from overtop her monitor. Even JJ lets her gaze linger as she walks by. And eventually your eyes land on Spencer, who's standing in front of your desk with an unreadable expression.

Quickly, you walk to your desk and see what's caused the off kilter atmosphere. There, in the middle of your desk, is a brand new bouquet of flowers. A mixture of red, yellow, and white tulips. They're beautiful, but for some reason they make your stomach turn. Your eyes are quick to see the note hidden amongst the green stems, and you snatch it from the vase.

"Each bloom is a chapter of our story so far, a story not yet complete." You read out loud, blood feeling like ice running through your veins. With a shaking hand you pass the note to Spencer, whose eyes betray his calm demeanor.

"This is-this is not a coincidence." He confirms your fears and you nod, fighting back the bile in your throat.

"What do these flowers mean, Spence?" You ask him, trying to keep your voice level to mask just how unnerved you are. He sighs and looks at the flowers before speaking.

"Red represents passion and love, yellow stands for hopeless love and jealousy, and white is forgiveness." He says, your eyes moving to each color as he speaks.

"Forgiveness?" It strikes you odd that whoever is sending these included something that represents forgiveness. Spencer's eyes narrow and you can tell he's using his profiler mind and not his friend mind anymore.

"It's like whoever sent these is telling you they forgive you of something, and that they still hold strong romantic feelings." His words do not comfort you.

"What would they have to forgive me for?" You shake your head, trying to find some sort of answer. You stayed holed up in your apartment with Spencer all weekend. It's not like you were around other people where you could've inadvertently offended someone.

"I'm not sure." Spencer's voice is still soft, and he lays the note next to the vase.

"What should we do?" You ask, hoping he has some idea. You're not sure if you should make a deal of this or just leave it be and hope that whoever is responsible loses interest soon. Spencer shrugs,

"That's up to you. I'll support whatever you decide." He says, resting a hand on your shoulder.

Before he returns to his desk your eyes linger on the flowers. You're no closer to an answer than you were a few moments ago and so you hope that the answer will come to you as you go about your day.

But trying to concentrate on your mystery becomes increasingly difficult as the maintenance workers continue replacing the cameras. Their tools are noisy, they're noisy, and it doesn't allow for an atmosphere that condones constructive thinking in any capacity. The sound of a drill echoes through the bullpen and you stand from your desk, unable to take it any longer.

Your feet take you to the one place you know those workers wouldn't dare try to install cameras, Penelope's office. You knock on her door and her smiling face answers in record time. She welcomes you into her office which is quiet and you feel yourself relax instantly.

"Welcome back." She smiles as she shuts the door behind you. You take a seat and are immediately grateful that she's so secretive and protective over her technology.

"Thank you for letting me stay here for a little." You practically invite yourself into her space but you know she won't mind. You let your eyes close in an attempt to try and concentrate and she takes her own seat and types for a little while before you hear her chair spin around.

"I love having you here, don't get me wrong, but, why exactly are you here?" You knew her curiosity was going to get the best of her. And you suppose that if you're invading her space you owe her at least a little bit of an explanation.

"The people installing the new cameras are too loud, couldn't think." You tell her with a sigh and run a hand over your face to try and rid the frustration that lingers.

"It's weird that it's taking them more than a day. I haven't been able to connect to them yet." She says and glances over at her monitor.

"I wish you could. Someone left flowers again." You further explain, knowing that you can trust her. Besides Spencer, Penelope has grown to be one of your closest confidants. You see her eyebrow arch.

"More flowers?" You nod, confirming her question.

"With a note this time. Each flower represented a chapter of our unwritten story." You summarize for her, trying to remain calm and collected about the incident while your mind still runs a mile a minute trying to figure it out.

Penelope's face turns from curious to worried; she's less skilled at hiding her emotions than you. Instead of watching her micro-expressions change as her thoughts race as well, you look down at your hands and pick at the skin around your nails. It's an old habit you had kicked a while ago, thanks to the constant nagging of Spencer, but it seems the stress has caused the urge to resurface.

"I'm sure you all will be able to figure it out, you always do." Penelope finally settles on reassurance when she breaks the silence. You really want to believe her, but an odd feeling settles within you, one that tells you this is going to be anything but easy.

You decide to take refuge in her office for the rest of the day.

-----

The keys on your keyring jingle as you unlock your door. It's dark when you enter and you figure you must have forgot to turn a lamp on before you left this morning. Usually it's part of your routine, but with everything that's been going on lately it's entirely likely it just slipped your mind.

Without a thought you sling your bag on your couch and shuffle over to the lamp. Your apartment is bathed in warm lighting and you go to close the curtains. Spencer isn't staying over during the week, though you know he would if you asked him to. But really, there's no practical need, he just makes you feel safe.

You go about your evening routine as usual, cleaning the sink from the weekend and tidying up the messes you let go for too long. As you fold the blankets Spencer had used over the weekend, you notice how they still smell like him. Your chest aches slightly as you realize he won't be out here tonight, but fold it up and drape it over the back of the couch, not letting yourself dwell on the thought for too long.

The sound of your phone dinging distracts you momentarily, and the message confuses you.

'Did you retag the evidence I collected on the last case by chance?'

The message is from Spencer, and your eyebrows draw tight in confusion. You type a reply back, telling him you hadn't touched the evidence at all. Why would you have retagged his evidence? The message just adds further confusion to the day, and your eyes grow heavy. Spencer doesn't end up replying and so you plug your phone in and get into bed.

The room is dark, which usually you enjoy, but now, it just feels ominous. You know it's unreasonable, but you get back up and recheck that the front door is locked. It is, like it always is. But your mind isn't content with that knowledge. On impulse, you grab your service weapon and take it back to the bedroom with you, laying it on your nightstand. You then lock your bedroom door before getting back into bed.

You know that your behavior is likely overboard and overdramatic for the situation, but you can't help but to think of all the other cases you've worked that started out exactly like this. It always starts with something small, something insignificant, but then it grows into something bigger, something dangerous.

Multiple women you recall have fallen victim to someone who was obsessed with them. And it was never just for one common reason, no, the people who obsessed over them did it for different reasons. And that's one of the reasons that the flowers are striking so much fear into you. You're not sure why you were chosen, what you did that triggered this, and it's the unknown that makes you uncomfortable.

Throughout the night you toss and turn, body becoming coated in a light layer of sweat from anxiety and stress. No matter what you do or try to think about, your mind brings you right back to colorful petals. The words left on the note echo in your mind and they intermingle with Spencer's voice as he explained what the flowers represent.

This is the first night in a long time that you were unable to get a wink of sleep.

-----

Unknown POV

Before I leave work for the day I decide to stop by the sixth floor. The lights are all off so I know nobody is in there, which is strange because the agents in the BAU are known for working late and odd hours, but I don't question it. Opening the glass doors I make my way to her desk, where I see both bundles of flowers still on her desk where I left them.

A hot rage surges through me, why hadn't she taken any of them home? They're all beautiful flowers, I would only allow for the best of quality to be used in her bouquets.

But soon my rage is turned to worry; what if she's allergic? Or what if they're not her favorite kinds of flowers? Have I been underperforming this entire time? Is that why she hasn't taken them home with her?

My heart drops in my chest and I know I have to do better. She deserves it. Looking around I decide to take a trip to the evidence room. Luckily my badge has permissions to let me in and to my joy, there's evidence that has yet to be catalogued. There to the right is a box full of blank tags and I waste no time.

I find every piece of evidence with his name on it and switch it out for tags that bear her name. He doesn't deserve the credit for helping solve the case, no, not when I know it's her brilliant mind that likely carried the entire investigation. Once again just another example of how nobody appreciates her enough, not like me.

Maybe this will give her some of the recognition she deserves. It barely scratches the surface of what she's fully worthy of, but I am willing to do whatever it takes for her to shine, for her to finally notice me and how devoted I am to her.

A fuzzy feeling resides in my chest as I think about her getting the credit she's rightfully owed. Oh, her smile would be so bright, so beautiful. And as I tie the knot in the last tag I feel the urge to check on her tonight. Checking the watch on my wrist, I know that if I leave now I'll likely make it before she turns off the lights.

And for a glimpse of her, I'd run to the ends of the Earth.

But just as I'm leaving I hear footsteps in the office, seems like they're not all gone after all. Before whoever it is rounds the corner, I hurry to leave so that it seems I was never there.

-----

"It's just weird. I know I tagged these just earlier yesterday morning." You and Spencer stand in the evidence room where you see his evidence has been tagged with your name. It's not handwriting that you recognize either.

You take a tag in your hand and inspect it closer, as if the answer would just jump out at you. But with no such luck you sigh and drop the tag with your name on it.

"I don't know Spencer. I swear I didn't touch it." You tell him and he looks over to you momentarily and nods.

"I know you didn't, you didn't come in here at all yesterday. In fact, I didn't see anyone else come in here after me." His eyebrows scrunch together as he recalls yesterday with perfect precision.

"So that means someone came in here after we were gone." You conclude, it's the only thing that makes sense. His eyes meet yours and you sense the underlying worry he's trying to hard to hide.

"It's the only thing that makes sense." He says, and the two of you stand in silence, looking at the incorrect tags.

Unable to stand the sight of them any longer you take them off and replace them with ones that are labeled with Spencer's name. An unsettling feeling comes over you as you wonder who may have had the motivation to do this. And unfortunately there's only one person who comes to mind, though you don't know who they are.

You and Spencer leave the evidence room without another word, the two of you wrapped up in your own thoughts. And you know when and if he has something to say that he will come to you, and vice versa.

The two of you return to your respective desks and you sit rigidly, staring at the flowers. It's like they're taunting you, but you know it's best not to throw them away here, for whoever is keeping an eye on you would likely take great offense to it. Instead, you push them to the side, where they will hopefully stay out of sight and mind.

The typing of your team members acts as white noise while you mechanically go through reports you need to finalize. Everyone had given their final edits to the official reports, they're all just waiting on you, and you know Hotch is likely to become agitated if you don't get your final approval in soon.

Your eyes scan over the documents and just before you go to submit your final approval, you notice something odd. Scrolling back up on the document you see that a detail of the case was altered. Where it should have read "Agent Morgan apprehended the suspect" it now reads that you apprehended the suspect.

With shock you read it over and over again to make sure your eyes weren't playing tricks on you, but sure enough the words stay the same. You print off the page and take it to Spencer, trying to act as nonchalant as possible. He reads the report with inhuman speed, his eyebrows creasing together. He keeps his voice low and level when he speaks,

"That's not how it read when I gave my approval." He confirms and you thank him before moving to Derek's desk. The chain of approval had gone from Spencer to Derek, then to Emily, JJ, and Rossi before you. If necessary, you'll take it to each of them to figure out when the change was made.

"What's up sweet thing?" Derek asks when you approach him. Trying your best you give a weak smile before handing him the page.

"I just noticed the detail wasn't right and I just wondered what had happened." You use your skillset to keep your tone of voice nonchalant. Derek reads over the page and shakes his head,

"No, I would've noticed if that had been changed." His eyes narrow at the paper before he hands it back to you. You thank him before moving on down the line.

By the time you get to Rossi, each one of them had denied seeing or making the change. And you have no reason to doubt them, they're all very detail oriented and have no motivation to make such a change. But then if it wasn't one of them, who could it have been?

Feeling a pit of dread in your stomach, you take the page to Hotch. In his office he sees you enter and lays his pen to the side. His expression is stoic as per usual and you lay the piece of paper on his desk in front of him. He reads the page and then reads it again before he finally looks at you.

"Why are you showing this to me?" You can clearly hear the confusion in his voice, and you realize that it may look like you're trying to alter events yourself. A shock runs through your body and your eyes grow wide, with a quick shake of your head you point to the altered sentence.

"Nobody made those changes, sir. And I just noticed the change right before I almost submitted my approval." You explain to him with rushed words. Hotch looks between you and the paper once again.

"So you're telling me that after Rossi submitted his approval that someone altered the report?" Hotch clarifies and you nod,

"That's exactly what I'm saying." Hotch's stoic expression remains unchanged.

"Leave this here with me. Change the report back and make no further deal about it. This, paired with the evidence re-tagging and flowers is highly unusual and something we need to be vigilant about. Keep your cards close to you." Hotch orders and you nod, letting go of the paper so he can stow it away in his desk where it's sure to be safe from prying eyes.

As you walk back out into the bullpen, you feel several pairs of eyes on you. You keep your eyes trained ahead of you and try to block out all thoughts and emotions as you return to your desk.

You act as if you're returning to your normal work, when instead you're going back into the archives and reading previous reports. You're curious as to what else could have been altered, things that maybe went unnoticed, simply overlooked.

By the end of the day, your eyes sting from staring at the screen for hours on end. Everyone begins leaving and you offer them half-hearted goodbyes, too consumed with finding other altered reports. It's only when it hits eight o'clock that Spencer finally gives in.

"Okay, come on. We've been here for over twelve hours. You need some rest." He says, taking your jacket off the back of your chair and handing it to you. With bloodshot eyes you look up at him, feeling tired but fueled by adrenaline and the need to know.

"Spencer I-"

"No, come on. We're getting you home." He says and reaches over to turn your monitor off. With a sigh, you relent and grab your jacket.

-----

Unknown POV

My hands clench the binoculars tightly as I see him walk in behind her. It's a work night and he's here? He should know better than to bother her when she needs a good night's sleep. I watch as he closes her door and makes himself at home. He goes into her kitchen and makes them dinner, which he serves her at the table.

He's sitting too close to her, he's smiling at her too much. I see the way he looks at her when she speaks, as if he's concerned about what she's saying. But I know the truth. He's only there to get something out of her. Whether it's an ego boost or something much worse, I know he's only using her. Just like he uses her on cases. He takes her ideas and takes credit for them, to which he is praised to no end.

After dinner my eyes are glued to her as the puts her hair up and approaches the window. Her hands rest on her hips as she looks around, and I take extra care to stay absolutely still. Even from the window I can see how beautiful she is. She has an effortless beauty most can never achieve.

But the moment is short lived as he comes over and closes the curtains for her. Through the sheer material I see him wrap an arm around her waist and lead her further into the apartment, away from the window.

Afraid I may break the binoculars, I put them down and decide to leave for the evening to get to work. If he wants to keep her from me, then I must do more to command her attention. She has to see what I can offer her, how I can make her life so much easier. She has to see how he's using her.

It's time I take things up a notch, so she can see that there is no lengths that are too great for her.

-----

"Spencer you really don't have to do this." You say with guilt residing heavily in your chest. The man is unrelenting though.

"I know I don't have to, but I want to. You would do exactly the same for me if the roles were reversed." You bite your tongue, knowing he's right. He takes your silence as a victory and adjusts his position under the blankets.

After making dinner, Spencer insisted that he stay with you tonight. He said he could tell that your nerves are shot and that he knew you well enough to know you'd never be able to sleep alone in your apartment. Both of those things had been correct, but you feel terrible. You know the couch is uncomfortable for him, and you wish he'd think of himself for once. But while you feel guilty that he's staying, a part of you is happy that he's here.

"Well, I appreciate it, you know." You tell him, standing awkwardly in front of him as he lays on your couch. He smiles softly,

"I know. Now get to bed, we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow." His eyes glimmer in the soft lamp-light, and you feel your cheeks heat up. You wish him a good night before returning to your bedroom.

Tonight you don't lock your bedroom door and you don't keep your service weapon on your nightstand. You feel confident and safe with Spencer just a few feet away. As you get comfortable in bed, you begin thinking of ways you can repay his generosity. He's done more than enough for you lately, and he deserves to be thanked properly.

-----

Walking into work the next day, things are eerily quiet, which is never a good sign. Everyone seems to be glued to their screens, not bothering to tell you good morning. With nerves shooting up your spine, you put your bag down and turn your monitor on. Things are just as you left them, not even the flowers at the edge of your desk have been tampered with. Everything appears to be normal, but it feels anything but.

You try to ignore the suffocating atmosphere to pick up where you left off yesterday. You read report after report, but don't see anything that's been altered. The buzz of your phone gains your attention and you see a message from Penelope.

'When you get a chance could you please stop by my office?'

You put your phone in your back pocket and decide to bring her a cup of coffee. Due to the unusual quietness in the office, you hear two people talking as you approach and you hear your name come up in the conversation. Keeping a low profile, you hang back and try to listen.

"Something just doesn't feel right about it. I mean, all of this starts after the media gives Spencer the credit? I don't want to say anything but, it just seems too much of a coincidence." Derek's words make you sick to your stomach, you know exactly what he's talking about.

"I don't know, I don't think she would do something like this though." Emily's voice is heard next. You hear Derek sigh,

"I don't either, but who else could it be? We both saw what was changed. It's in my files and it's in your files. Maybe yesterday's discovery was on purpose, throw us all off the trail." Your eyebrows crease together, had they found more changes? And is Derek implying that you made those changes yourself?

Unable to stop yourself, you walk into the break room like you hadn't been eavesdropping and the two of them act casually, as if they hadn't been talking about you. Your heart thumps as their words echo in your mind.

Derek had brought up a case two months ago that caught national attention. It was a case of a serial killer that had been killing women in what seemed like a random pattern, but once you dug deep into the clues left behind you found out it was anything but random. The killer had been finding women who were having affairs behind their husbands' back, women who were having inappropriate relationships with their professors, or any other taboo relationship and killing them as a result. The killer would dump the bodies in empty fields. Some of the victims had their hair shaved, their teeth pulled out, their legs disfigured; and it all seemed so random.

You dug deeper into the victimology for days and found the connection of illicit affairs. It wasn't long until you connected the dots and found out that the unsub was meeting these women under the pretense of hooking up, and then he took their most redeeming, or seductive, quality from them. It was difficult to figure out how the unsub was finding these women, but eventually the team had figured out that the unsub was employing several methods of finding them. He found some on dating apps, some on college campuses, and some at bars.

And when the media picked up the story, they had all published that Spencer Reid was the mastermind behind the arrest. While that wasn't entirely true, it wasn't a complete lie either. You had worked together like you do in every other case. Sure, it upset you slightly that you weren't given your credit, but you got over it quickly. You and the team knew the truth and that was all that mattered to you. To be honest, the whole ordeal was almost forgotten by you.

You quickly make Garcia's coffee before leaving the break room, Derek and Emily still lingering in there. They probably want to continue their conversation. It irritates you that they think you're the one who altered the document, and you wonder what else they found that's leading them to that conclusion. But for now it seems like they want to keep their cards close to their chests.

Penelope welcomes you into her office with a strained smile, and you can't help but wonder if she's also suspicious of you. But you say nothing, instead you let her speak. She offers you a chair and then spins around to face her many monitors.

Her voice is quiet and calmer than usual.

"I was finally able to connect back into the cameras out there. And, something just doesn't make sense." She says and pulls up a footage file. The camera footage plays and you keep your eyes glued to the screen but you don't se what she's talking about. Looking over to her, you shrug your shoulders.

"I didn't see anything out of the ordinary." You admit. Penelope's lips fall apart and she rewinds the video.

"Right here. The shadow on the floor changed. Watch it again." She rewinds a little bit further and sure enough, you catch the moment that the shadow seems to jump on the floor.

"Okay so the shadow changed, maybe someone turned on a light? You try to rationalize and explain away the sharp change. But it doesn't seem like Penelope is buying the story. She sighs and looks back at the screen.

"The footage has been altered. All of the cameras have. The shadow is there for exactly ten minutes on each camera and then the shadow goes back to normal. And nobody else is seen exiting the office after the change." She explains, a familiar dread creeping up within you.

"So someone didn't want us to see what happened in here last night." You state, voice void of all emotion. Penelope just simply swallows and nods.

A part of you wants to run for the hills, away from this person and the chaos they're creating. The other part of you, the profile part, is becoming more and more determined to find out who this is and put an end to their antics.

You thank Penelope for showing you and ask her to save the footage in a secure place. Your determined nature is overpowering the childlike fear that threatens your mind; you're ready to get your hands dirty and get to work.

When you walk back into the bullpen you see Derek, JJ, Emily, Rossi, and Spencer all looking at you with a quizzical, and perhaps slightly skeptical look in their eye. First thing's first, you need to figure out why they think you're responsible for the document changes.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #mgg #spencer reid fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #bau team #penelope garcia #derek morgan #criminal minds fandom

179 notes · View notes

unseededtoast · 13 days

Text

Turtle Doves | Joel Miller

Part Twelve

Chapter Directory

Series Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, death, and sexual content.

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted!

"Don't take another step."

Someone nudging my shoulder wakes me from my sleep. I lazily blink my eyes open and see Joel staring down at me with his chocolate brown eyes. He probably either found something, or it's time to keep walking. Either way, my time on this mattress is coming to a sad close, and I wish I could stay here forever. My limbs stretch out before I get up, soaking in one last moment on the soft bed.

Joel moves out of my way as I get up and put my bag on my back. He picks his up as well and opens the camper door for me. The day is hot, the air is sticky with humidity.

"Follow me." He says and walks ahead of me, leading me further into the campground. Joel has some unusual pep in his step, and it's getting my hopes up that he found something good.

The rest of the campground is desolate, it's probably been abandoned for a decade now. It's almost like a time capsule, everything is exactly where it was left ten years ago. There are children's bicycles left, tents that have been blown over, and remnants of happy memories everywhere I look. Once upon a time, this place would have been a lovely destination for a weekend getaway.

The campers become less densely packed as he keeps walking deeper into the woods.

"I thought you said you weren't going far." I call him on his lie. His shoulders shrug in front of me.

"I guess it's all a matter of perspective." He refutes and I let out a short laugh.

"I'll have to keep that in mind." I say as we pass a rusted out truck.

We walk a few more paces until I see a blue pickup truck sitting out by itself. It looks a little out of place, like it should be back towards the front where most of the campers are. Joel comes to a stop in front of it and lightly smacks his hand on the hood. I'll admit, it's one of the nicest looking cars I've seen in a while. The rust is at a minimum, it still has all the doors and windows. In my eyes, this truck is on par with a Rolls Royce.

"Does it work?" I ask before my hopes get too high. This truck could need parts before it runs. And if that's the case, who knows how long we'll be here searching for them.

"It runs, we just need some gas." He says and I nod. I knew we couldn't get lucky enough to find a car without any sort of issue to deal with.

"Okay, then let's find some gas." I say, hopeful that in this campground there's fuel stored somewhere. Sure, it's frustrating that our trip is being delayed, but the thought of finally having a car offsets any negativity about searching for gas.

The two of us split up, each taking one side of the campground to make the most of our time. I start at the front and decide to make my way back towards the truck. I search through the unlocked campers and cars left to rot, finding nothing of real use in the front. In the back half of the campground I find a gas container with a quarter tank, it's better than nothing. Other than that, I don't find anything.

Joel and I reconvene at the truck after thoroughly searching. It seems his search was more fruitful, he's got two full containers in his hands.

"Where'd you find all that?" I'm not sure how he got so lucky. He just shrugs,

"Was just layin' around." He opens the gas cap of the truck and pours the gas into it. Hopefully this gets us a few hundred miles at least.

I watch as he tosses the empty gas can aside and climbs into the driver's seat. He rubs his hands together excitedly before turning the key in the ignition. The truck makes a few clicking sounds before it finally roars to life with a deep growl. It's music to my ears and I can't keep the wide smile off my face.

"I can't believe it." My voice is awestruck as I climb into the passenger side. The seats are faux leather and the air in here is quite stale and stuffy. Joel begins navigating back to the road as I roll the windows down and let my arm hang out the window.

He drives us out of the campground and we're back en route. The wind whips my hair around in the truck and my eyes close as I take in the feeling. It's been so long since I can remember enjoying driving with the windows down. We drive for miles as I soak in the almost forgotten feeling.

Opening my eyes, I look over to Joel, who has a small smirk on his face. His eyes glance from the road over to me before flicking back to the road. I roll the window halfway up, the air becoming a little much.

"Thought you fell asleep over there." He says. I shake my head and try to tame my hair from the wind.

"No, I slept pretty well. I think we can count that as a five star hotel." I flip down the mirror attached to the visor on the ceiling and use it to part my hair the correct way before glancing over to Joel. He just shakes his head with the same smirk on his face, and then we fall back into our usual silence.

Deciding I can use this time for something other than looking out of the window, I grab my bag and unzip it, grabbing the map. It's torn around the edges from wear, but is still intact enough that it won't disintegrate if it gets folded the wrong way. My eyes find the spot where we just passed through, marked with the star. The stars must mean other groups, so we'll want to avoid those in the future.

I look ahead in our route to see what we'll be coming up on. The next group we should be crossing paths with are the Fireflies. It'll be interesting to see what happens when we get to that point. I know both Joel and I dislike them, but they're also involved in the slaughter of children in QZs. For that reason alone I want to seek them out, just to see if there's any information we can get from them.

But then again, if Joel was there when Marlene died, other people might know about that and it might complicate things. I heavily sigh as I weigh the pros and cons of finding them.

Then again, Joel doesn't have to go with me to seek them out. He's more than welcome to keep going and if he wants, we can meet back up after I'm done. One way or another I know I need to find them, and I need to see for myself the extent of their involvement with the T group. In my mind, there's more to lose from not finding them and not getting every ounce of information that I possibly can. From my estimate, if we keep driving for the rest of the day, we should reach them by tomorrow afternoon. That's assuming we don't run into any obstacles.

I fold the map back up and put it inside my bag and my fingers find the two scraps of paper I found in the fire back near Boston. The word "immune" strikes me, and my thumb runs over the ink. What could this mean? What context was it written in? Does it even have anything to do with this?

Surely it has to, it was among other vital pieces of information like the note and the map. But why would they burn this letter and not the rest?

Joel glances over to see what I'm holding and his eyebrows draw tightly together. He reads the word on the scorched paper and his eyes trail up to meet mine. His jaw sets and he swallows hard. It reminds me of the night we spent in the little suburban home, how he went over all the evidence.

"What is it?" My mouth blurts out before I can stop myself. I have to know why he's acting this way about the evidence. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his hand grab the steering wheel more tightly and his knuckles turn white. But his face relaxes and he shakes his head,

"Nothin'." His subpar answer lingers in the air between us. I have a gut feeling he's not telling the entire truth, and it's really starting to get under my skin.

"It's not nothing. What do you know?" I ask him, my voice firm. My eyes scan over his face for any clues, but his demeanor is cool and collected, save for his death grip on the steering wheel.

"I don't know anything." His voice is deep and has a tone of finality, urging me not to continue on. I bite my tongue before I begin accusing him of things I'm not even sure of and look back out the window.

An anxious feeling creeps up my spine as I try to rationalize why he would want to keep information away from me. It's plain as day now that he definitely knows something, and it has to be centered around this one scribbled word. He reacted to it back in the suburbs, and he reacted to it again just now.

If he's willing to go out of his way to save me not once, but twice, and is sincere enough to keep his word about tagging along until Omaha, then what could possibly be so classified that he won't tell me? It just doesn't make sense. And in that moment, the man who once made me feel safe, makes me feel uneasy. Maybe I wrongfully placed my trust in him too soon.

Quietly, I place the scrap of paper back in my bag and zip it up. The bag now rests in my lap and I crane my neck even more so that I can't even see him out of my peripheral vision. My heart thumps in my chest and I try to calm myself. Wild thoughts run rampant in my mind with theories about what's going on, but not one theory is able to check every box of the situation.

As the day goes on, the trip continues to pass in silence. After hours of mulling over my theories, I still can't settle on anything that makes total sense. Everything about his behavior is paradoxical to me. Until I can figure it out, I think it's best if I keep my distance and and keep my mouth shut. He already knows a fair bit about me, but I know practically nothing about him. There's a power imbalance here and that adds to my uneasiness.

Our silence is now filled with tension once more, and my nervously tapping foot is the only thing that fills the quiet cab of the truck. The sun has set and the headlights of this truck are very dim. Truthfully, it's probably dangerous to be driving with such dim lights but I don't care. I just want this truck to get us as far as possible.

Unfortunately, he doesn't keep driving through the night. No, he finds a rest area off the highway and stops at it, pulling the truck over the curb and into the woods for cover. As soon as the truck is put into park I get out and sling my bag over one shoulder. My feet can't carry me fast enough as I make my way to one of the small buildings.

I duck behind one and revel in the feeling of being alone, being away from the suffocating silence and tension. My chest deflates with a sigh and I turn my attention towards the dark sky, dotted with bright stars. For a few moments my problems melt away, it's just me and the wide open sky. My fingers wrap around the gold chain around my neck as I gaze at the stars, hoping that somehow the right answer will come to me. Should I stay with Joel? Should I go on my own? I just don't know.

I don't have enough time to dwell on it as I hear Joel's footsteps crunching in the woods next to me. Fixing my posture, I bend over and make it look like I was tying the laces of my boot and not debating whether or not I should take off. As casually as I can, I look up through my eyelashes and see Joel coming out of the woods in front of me, logs tucked underneath one of his arms. He looks at me quizzically, and I think quick to excuse my hightailing.

"Sorry I um, I just had to go." I say, implying that I ran off for the bathroom. He nods his head once and then clears his throat.

"Was thinkin' we could build a fire out here." He gestures to the sidewalk that borders the woods. Like last night, there's a risk to it, but it's not a detrimental one, at least I don't think.

"Yeah, that's fine." I say and stand up from my kneeling position. He walks in front of me, his shoulders tight with tension and I'm not entirely sure it's from hauling firewood.

I stay a few feet back as Joel constructs the fire, much like he did last night. He does it with an expertise that shows how long he's been out here for. Leaning against a nearby tree I chew on my fingernails, my brain unable to let me be calm. Joel lights the fire and he takes a seat on the plush grass, stretching out.

"I can take watch tonight." He offers. While the offer is nice, I don't know if I'll be able to sleep. There are several reasons why I should trust him by now, but there's also one major reason why I can't. I shake my head, turning down his offer.

"That's okay, I'm not even really tired. Plus you drove all day." My lie comes quick and smooth. He looks up at me, and I worry he's going to see through my facade. He shrugs his shoulders,

"Doesn't bother me." His voice sounds sincere and I wish I could accept his offer as easily as I did last night.

"I might stay up and plan a little." This isn't the entire truth, but it's not a complete lie either.

"Plan for what?" His brown eyes are illuminated by the fire. Nervousness crawls over my skin.

"Um, just, just for our next stop." I say, deciding that this conversation has to happen eventually.

"What stop is that?" He readjusts his position on the ground so he can look at me easier.

"The Fireflies. We're going to run into them next." I flatly state, waiting for his reaction. Joel's eyebrows shoot up,

"Thought you hated the Fireflies?" His voice is gruff and he sounds irritated. My head nods, agreeing with him.

"I do. And as much as I hate to admit it, I have to talk to them. You saw, their emblem was on that letter. They're involved in this and I can't just pass it up." I feel slightly more confident. He huffs with annoyance and I try to keep my facial expression under control, he can't know how apprehensive I am right now.

"Damn Fireflies." Is all he says, and I think I was hoping for more insight. I decide to leave the conversation there, not wanting to tread on rough waters with him again.

Eventually I take a seat on the grass across the way from Joel. The fire's smoke burns my lungs each time I inhale, but I don't mind it. My thoughts are too occupied with my own internal conflict.

Am I overreacting about what happened earlier? After all, this is the same man who helped me over the barricade, saved me from the perverted men in the town, and insisted he stay with me until Omaha. If his intentions with me were foul, he's had plenty of time to act and he hasn't. But there's something about how defensive he got that's concerning.

My repeating thoughts are interrupted as I hear twigs breaking in the woods behind me. My hand reaches for the curved blade and I'm on my feet in the blink of an eye. There's a shadow moving in the trees, I see it coming closer. Joel stands by my side and pushes me behind him slightly, a knife in his hand as well.

"Don't take another step." Joel's voice threatens. The footsteps stop. It's not an infected. My head turns from side to side to watch for anyone else that may be tagging along with his person.

"I'm just passing through." A manly voice calls back and the footsteps resume. My grip on my knife gets tighter, ready to use it if things go sideways.

"Walk towards me with your hands up." Joel demands. Through the darkness I see the man's hands fly up in surrender and he takes slow steps towards us. I back up so that the man can come to the light, so we can see his face.

He's a young kid, maybe early twenties. His hair is all disheveled, clothes tattered and torn. There's a fear in his eyes as he steps out towards us, like he's never been in this situation before. Raised high above his head, his hands tremble.

"Sit on the ground and cross your ankles." Joel instructs, knife still at the ready. Quickly, the young man nods his head and follows Joel's instructions. I put my knife away, seeing as how Joel has this covered apparently.

"Who are you?" Is Joel's next demand. The kid's eyes raise to meet his.

"Name's Tate." His voice cracks as he talks. From his perspective, Joel has to be terrifying. He's a large man with a knife, of course he's going to be scary. And I'll admit deep down he scares me too.

"What're you doin' out here?" Joel's form is rigid and tense.

"Like I said I'm just passing through." The kid's wide eyes turn to me and Joel snaps his fingers.

"Don't look at her, eyes stay right here." Joel points to his face. The boy nods his head and tears his gaze off of me. The kid's nervousness causes him to keep blabbering.

"I swear man. I'm headed to Pittsburgh. I've got family out that way." Joel shifts his weight, refusing to lower his weapon.

"Pittsburgh is full of raiders and hunters." The kid swallows hard at Joel's words and a look of exasperation comes over him.

"What? No, no that can't be right. How do you know?" Joel sighs and adjusts his knife in his hand.

"Went through there a while ago. Checkpoint's been abandoned. I can almost guarantee that your people aren't there anymore for one reason or another." The kid looks down from Joel's face and I think he might get sick.

I look over what the young man has on him and see that he's travelling suspiciously light. In fact, I don't even see a bag anywhere. If he's travelling all the way to Pittsburgh with nothing but the clothes on his back, he has to be trying to evade something, or someone. Finding my voice, I speak up.

"Where's your stuff at?" Both Joel and Tate look over to me. Joel looks angry and Tate looks confused. Tate's mouth hangs open for a few seconds as he digests the question.

"This is all I have." He confirms my thoughts, which makes me even more curious about why he's out here.

"You're travelling to Pittsburgh with no supplies?" My voice is obviously skeptical. This could be some sort of trap for all we know. Tate's head nods.

"I didn't have a choice. The Fireflies are losing their damn minds, everyone's trying to take charge and it's a mess." His voice seems to calm down as he speaks to me.

"How many are left?" I ask, hoping that there's enough there that someone is bound to know something. Tate shrugs his shoulders.

"I don't know, maybe thirty, maybe less by now." His voice trails off at the end of his sentence and he glances back to Joel, who has not stopped staring him down.

If Tate is fleeing from the Fireflies, he might be more likely to spill what he knows. After all, if he has no loyalty he doesn't have to worry about covering for anyone. Within seconds I'm fishing out the pieces of paper from my bag and I bring them over to Tate. The documents are fanned out in my hands and I sit beside him, letting him look over the materials. His eyes scan over them, reading the instruction note twice.

"What do you know about this?" My voice is low and somber. Tate's eyes meet mine,

"I don't know. This looks like serious shit though. I wasn't high ranking enough to know about stuff like that. No, I was the one who they sent out to kill infected and to be people's bodyguards. But if you get to their base, I'm willing to bet Trevor knows something." His words seem genuine, and I pack all the documents back into my bag.

"Trevor." I confirm and he nods his head. It seems like he's being honest, lies usually aren't that thorough. Standing from my spot beside Tate, I walk to Joel and meet his hard gaze.

"I think we should let him go." I whisper so Tate can't hear. Something tells me that Joel doesn't want him making it out of here alive, but I don't think Tate is going to be any sort of threat to us. Joel's eyes bounce between me and Tate, looking uncertain.

"What if he's lyin'?" Joel asks and I sigh.

"I don't think he is. Look at him, he's scared. Doesn't seem the type to hurt others." I glance over my shoulder at the skinny kid sitting with his ankles still crossed.

"Fine. You can let him go, but you're taking watch if you do." Joel grumbles and brushes past me. I roll my eyes at him before I turn around to meet Tate once more.

"Get out of here." I say, kicking the side of his shoe.

"Really? You're going to let me go?" He sounds shocked, and I nod my head and gesture for him to get going. Tate scrambles to his feet and takes off through the woods again without another word. I hope he finds whoever it is he's searching for, poor kid.

I watch him until I can't see or hear him anymore, and then take a seat across from Joel at the fire once more. He's obviously angry, but I don't care that much. In a passive-aggressive protest, he's turned his back to me to sleep, and I try to make myself comfortable on the sidewalk for another long night of keeping watch.

#joel miller #joel miller hbo #joel miller tlou #tlou #the last of us #joel the last of us #joel tlou #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller series #pedro pascal

21 notes · View notes

unseededtoast · 13 days

Text

We'll Be Alright | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Summary: In which you discover that the line between love and hate is quite fine. Your actions are done out of love, but they only make you hate yourself more and more. Inspired by "Fine Line" by Harry Styles

Cross posted on Wattpad and AO3 and here is my masterlist!

WC: 9.1k

Warnings: Angst, a lot of angst, pining, mention of Ed Gein, mention of blood, use of guns, that sorta thing

a/n: Back at it again with another Spencer Reid oneshot. I hope you all like it, I think this is one of my favorites so far.

"I could live with you hating me, but I couldn't live in a world without you."

With a smile on your face you listen to Spencer ramble on about how he put the pieces together to find the unsub while you two ride to the scene together. He speaks with such passion and you don't think you'll ever get tired of listening to him, his mind is a brilliant thing and you make sure to remind him every chance you get. You can tell that sometimes when he gets fired up about something he starts becoming insecure, fearing that the others will make some snide comment or dismiss his thoughts. But not you, you listen intently every time, hanging onto every word.

Spencer has played a very vital role in developing you into the analyst you are today. Where the others were satisfied with letting you learn on your own, and showing you pointers here and there, Spencer took the time to explain nuanced ideas to you. He showed genuine interest and care, and you gave him your undivided attention. This dynamic created a tight bond with the two of you, allowing you to work together seamlessly and at times, it's like you read each other's thoughts.

"I knew you could do it." You tell him as you pull onto the scene. He utters a thanks as the two of you get out of the car and join the rest of the team.

The unsub is nearby and the team is just waiting for him to show up; Garcia had been able to track his phone and his movement aligned with the area you and Spencer had narrowed down as the next area of interest. Hotch, Morgan, and Emily give you both a nod of acknowledgement and the five of you begin scouting out the area to look for any signs of the unsub, he should be here by now.

This particular unsub sent a chill down your spine, and not much gets to you anymore. His modus operandi was always to kill his victims, skin them, and use their flesh for various purposes. It's like he was trying to be Gein's prodigy, except he never dug up a grave, he preferred to kill them all himself. The team had found his workshop early in the investigation, but the unsub was nowhere to be found, until now. Seeing household objects made of flesh isn't going to soon leave your memory, you're sure of it.

"There he is!" Morgan yells and points to a man crossing the street with a paper bag in his hand. Everyone takes off in a sprint towards him and you pull your firearm from the holster strapped to your thigh. The unsub takes off, trying to evade you all.

Emily and Hotch split up from the rest of the team to try and cut him off up ahead, leaving you, Spencer, and Morgan trailing him. The little man is fast, you'll give him that much. Eventually, he ducks down an alleyway, unaware it's a dead end, and turns back to look at you all with wide, stunned eyes. You see the panic in his eyes and as Morgan shouts instructions at him, you see him reach inside of his jacket.

The unsub pulls a gun of his own and aims it right at Spencer. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears. Spencer puts his hands up in surrender while you and Morgan keep your sights trained on him.

"Put the guns down or I'll shoot him, I swear I'll do it, just like the others!" The unsub declares while switching the safety off of his gun. Your hands begin to shake with adrenaline, but you don't put your gun down. Faintly, you can hear Morgan informing Hotch and Emily of the situation via radio but it's like you have tunnel vision on the man in front of you.

"Do it now!" He screams erratically and you see his finger dance on the trigger, just about to pull it.

An internal battle wages itself inside your mind, trying to quickly assess the pros and cons of listening to the man. Just as you go to lower your gun, you see the man grin sickeningly at Spencer with an evil glint shining in his eye; you've seen that look before. Without thinking, you turn and knock Spencer out of the way just as you hear the shot go off. Spencer slams into the brick wall beside him, chest heaving with panicked breaths. Behind you, you can hear Morgan yelling something but his voice sounds miles away.

All you feel is a blinding, white-hot pain.

Blinking rapidly, you look down and see that your shirt is quickly becoming stained a deep scarlet red. Your heart is pumping at an alarming pace, you can feel your pulse in your neck. The red stain keeps growing but your mind can't comprehend what's going on. Large hands obscure the stain from your view, and you finally look up to see Spencer's hazel eyes, wide and afraid.

He gently brings your body to the ground, leaning you against the brick wall you had shoved him into. His hands apply pressure to the wound, sending a shockwave of pain through your entire body. It feels like you can't catch your breath, you fight for oxygen every few seconds and even that makes your body feel like you've just been set ablaze. The edges of your vision start going black, and you can't really see anything clearly anymore. Your mind is a jumble of incoherent thoughts that just sounds like static.

"Hey, hey look at me. Come on now. Stay with me. Please." You feel a tap on your cheek and your blurry vision can make out Spencer's form, his fingers coated in red. A wave of nausea and pain racks through your system, and you try to reach out for Spencer, but your arms are just too heavy, and words take too much effort. It's easier to just close your eyes.

-----

A constant beeping sound stirs you awake. You don't even remember falling asleep. Trying to open your eyes feels like an impossible task, like they've been bonded shut with super glue. Your throat feels like a desert, and you start to panic, not remembering where you are. Mental images of the unsub's flesh creations flash through your mind and you start panicking, thinking that somehow he got you.

The panic is enough to make your eyes open, and you're greeted with bright lights. Flinching, you squint your eyes and look around. This isn't the unsub's workshop, no, this looks like a hospital. Your eyes travel down your body, seeing lines embedded in your arms, a plastic piece clamped over your finger, and a large white bandage wrapped around your stomach. As if on cue, your stomach starts to burn like hot coals had just been placed there. An image of Spencer's hand covered in bright red flashes behind your eyelids.

A nurse walks through the doors and smiles when she catches your eye. She comes to your bedside and sets down an IV bag full of clear liquid.

"Glad to see you're finally awake. How do you feel?" She asks and you go to answer her, but your throat is too dry, so you just end up coughing. The nurse crosses your room and returns moments later with a plastic cup half full of water. Greedily, you take it from her and drink the water, a lone stream wandering down your chin. Once the cup is empty, you decide to finally answer her.

"Not great." You admit, trying to reposition but unable to do so because of the pain. The nurse nods as she hangs the new IV bag from the metal rack beside your bed.

"I imagine so. I'll give you something to dull the pain." She tells you, resting a gentle hand on your upper arm. Your eyes are glued to her hand and you nod, anticipating the relief of pain medication.

"What exactly happened?" You ask, only able to remember tiny bits and pieces. The image of Spencer's hand refuses to leave your mind but you just can't remember what happened before, or after, that moment. The nurse looks down to the bandage covering your torso.

"An ambulance brought you in last night. You got shot through the abdomen and had to be rushed into surgery. There was sustained damage to your liver and other intestines, but nothing life-threatening. You gave your coworkers quite the scare though, they didn't want to leave but we had to send them home." Her voice is soothing despite the words leaving her mouth, like she was used to delivering this sort of news. Which she probably is. You stare down at the bandage on your stomach, trying to remember anything else, but being unsuccessful.

"So when can I leave?" You ask, knowing that there's an incident report or two waiting for you on your desk. Truthfully, you'd rather do anything but those reports right now, seeing as how you can't even remember a major event, but you know the job doesn't allow for much downtime.

"Probably tomorrow or the next day depending on how well you're doing." She reassures you, and you can live with that. If the team wants the paperwork done that badly, they can bring it to you. Otherwise, you're perfectly content to stay here for a little while. The nurse exits the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

From what you can remember, Spencer was definitely there when you got shot. His hands were covered in your blood, that part you can vividly remember. Your heart sinks as you are able to recall the look in his eyes, how scared he was. You hope he doesn't blame himself for what happened, you know it isn't his fault even if you can't quite remember how it all went down. If the roles were reversed you can't even imagine the wreck you would be; the thought alone makes you sick.

-----

The next day your doctor clears you for discharge, and you call Hotch to come pick you up. You have no family to call to get you or take care of you, Hotch and the team are the closest thing you have. You had almost called Spencer, but decided against it because you're not sure if you're ready to see him just yet. Hotch's car pulls up to the curb and he hops out to help you in the car but you wave him off.

"I got shot I'm not immobile." You try to tease as you grimace, pulling yourself into the passenger seat. Hotch closes the door once you're in and quickly returns to the driver's seat. His hands grip the wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white. He starts the route back to your home without a word, but you can tell something is bothering him.

"What's up?" You break the silence, the curiosity of what he's thinking becoming too much. Hotch glances at you from the corner of his eye before training his eyes back on the road.

"You're off of field duty for the next few months. Technically, you should be on a leave of absence for a while but I know you won't abide by it. But, you have to promise me you won't overwork yourself. You got shot, you need to take care of yourself." His words come out slow and even, which contradicts his body language. There's something else going on, but you know him well enough to know he's not going to tell you.

"No field work, got it." You agree, knowing it's the best deal you're going to get. When another agent was shot on the job about a year ago, they made her stay out of the office for four months. You'd go crazy under those restrictions.

The two of you ride in silence until he pulls up outside of your quaint home. The lights are all off and the mail has gone unchecked. Dark clouds in the sky start emitting light sprinkles, likely to turn into a storm. With a sigh, you look to Hotch, whose eyes are already on you and you smile weakly at him, trying to mask the pain shooting up your spine.

"Thank you, Hotch." You say and open the door despite your body's protests.

"If you need anything, don't hesitate to call." He tells you with a father-like authority. You nod your head, knowing he means it.

"I will." You confirm and close the door. Hotch drives off and you check your overflowing mailbox before heading up the short stone walkway to your home. You're thankful for the stair railings as you have to pull yourself up each step to reach your front door. From what should be a simple, few-second task, it feels like you've run a marathon. The keys fumble around in your hands but you're able to unlock the door after a few attempts.

Your home is unusually dark and cold inside. The mail finds itself scattered across the dining room table and you go around turning on a lamp or two to bring some life back into the space. Clutching the back of your couch, you catch your breath and look down at your torso. With careful hands, you lift your shirt and look at the bandage. Thankfully it doesn't look like the stitches have broken, it's just a lot of pain. The doctor had given you two prescriptions to fill, but you probably won't go pick them up, you can't imagine how painful it would be to drive a car right now; moving your arms and legs, straining your abdomen. It's just not worth it in your mind. And you're surely not going to inconvenience anyone to pick it up for you, they probably couldn't anyways seeing as how one of them is a narcotic.

Instead of doing anything else, you go around and lay down on your couch, propping your head on a throw pillow and pulling the blanket draped over the back overtop of you. Thunder sounds off overhead, and you know the rain will put you to sleep if the pain doesn't do it first.

The plush material of the blanket soothes you somewhat, it definitely feels better than the hospital blankets. Thick raindrops start pelting the window situated on the wall perpendicular to the couch, giving you the perfect view through your sheer curtains. Your eyes droop as you watch the droplets race each other to the bottom but you don't want to sleep, it's pretty much all you've done the past two days.

While your eyes concentrate on the raindrops pelting the window your mind races with all the thoughts you've slept away in the hospital. Since first waking up, you've been able to recall most of what happened, the doctors told you it was a normal thing to experience, but it freaked you out as you just kept remembering what happened. You can hear Spencer's voice begging you to stay awake and you remember shoving him out of the way so he wouldn't be shot.

While the pain of being shot is like nothing you've experienced before, you know you'd do it all over again to save Spencer. And that terrifies you. It's for that reason you haven't contacted him yet, but you see the messages he's left on your phone, asking if you're okay and if he can do anything for you. If it had been him that got shot, and he didn't pull through, you know you'd crumble, you'd absolutely lose yourself. And that shakes you to your core. You knew you and Spencer were close, but you never realized just how deep your love for him runs.

Being shot made you understand that in this line of work it's not smart to form these personal ties, for reasons such as this. If the roles were reversed and he did die, you know you wouldn't be able to continue doing your job. It's been made abundantly obvious to you during your time on the BAU that these deep connections could pose a threat to your safety, and that's never been more clear to you than it is right now. It's precisely the reason you don't answer Spencer at all. You feel guilty, but you know it's better like this in the long run. You can't stomach the thought of him taking a bullet for you, so you have to distance yourself, for his safety.

-----

Five days later you decide to return to the office. You're feeling slightly better, the pain is still strikingly difficult to deal with, but you can't stand another day being cooped up in your house. Plus, you know there's at least one incident report waiting for you.

You leave early to give yourself enough time to get there, and you find out that you were right about driving, it definitely does not feel good. You reach the office later than you usually do, but you don't really care. The team isn't even expecting you for another two days, so there's no punctuality expectation. After you get out of your car and make your way across the parking lot you find that a pit of dread has taken residence in your stomach, right next to the aching pain; and you're nervous to walk through the doors that have become so familiar. But the elevator ride is too short for your comfort and you find yourself staring at those very doors before you're truly prepared.

With one hand lightly resting on your abdomen, you force yourself into the office, where everyone is busy with their daily duties. Maybe you can just slip in here without anyone noticing you. Your steps are drastically slower than normal, and you make it halfway to your desk before you hear someone calling out your name.

"What are you doing here? Thought you weren't supposed to be back until Monday." Morgan asks, tossing a file on top of his keyboard. You clear your throat and try your best to smile.

"Just couldn't stay away I guess." You say and finish the journey to your desk, feeling your legs start going weak. Within the days you've spent at home, you couldn't bring yourself to exert much energy getting food, you mainly just spent time wrapped up in a blanket on your couch. Your body is weaker than it ever has been, from both malnutrition and the gunshot, but nobody needs to know that, then they'd start to hover. You'd much rather just suffer in silence and take care of yourself. Morgan follows you over to your desk and you're hypervigilant to keep up a good appearance.

"We've been worried about you. Nobody's heard from you since Hotch picked you up." He says and you glance over to Hotch's office, seeing the door closed.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I've just been trying to rest and heal up." It's not a total lie, just not the entire truth either. You meet Morgan's eyes as if to seal the deal, and thankfully he doesn't push you further on the matter, he just puts a hand on your shoulder.

"Well it's good to have you back." He says before departing back to his own desk.

You open the cover of the file that's sitting on your desk, seeing blank pages waiting for you to fill them out. Grabbing your favorite pen, you start jotting down your notes of the incident report up until you get to the part where you were shot. The pen hovers over the page for minutes, and you can't seem to find the right words. The opening of Hotch's door distracts you and you see him and Spencer walk out. Spencer's eyes lock with yours immediately and he wastes no time abandoning his conversation with Hotch to come over to you. You knew this time would come, you were just hoping to avoid it for a while longer.

"How are you? Are you okay? You weren't supposed to be back until Monday." A flurry of questions gets thrown at you while Spencer looks you over as if he's expecting to see another bleeding wound on you.

"I'm fine, thanks." You keep your answer short, too short for his liking and you know it. Guilt sits heavily in your heart, but you remind yourself that this is for his benefit and wellbeing. You can deal with a broken heart, you can't deal with Spencer dying and that's why this is necessary. His eyebrows scrunch together, confused about why you're acting so strangely.

"I tried to text you." He says, lowering his voice, eyes tender and full of worry. If only you could reach out to him, to feel his soft skin under your fingertips and tell him about the hell you've been going through. Instead, you lick your lips and nod shortly,

"I saw. I just, I wanted some time alone." You lie straight to his face and watch as he buys it so easily. Disappointment paints itself all over his face, but he nods anyways and shoves his hands into his pockets.

"Right. Sorry, well, um, you know where I'll be." He says in a hushed voice before turning and walking to his own desk. Your eyes clamp themselves shut and your fists clench, leaving crescent-shaped indents in your palms as you take a deep breath and fight away the tears that threaten to spill.

Once you've regained control of yourself, you pick your pen back up and focus on nothing else but getting this report done. You force yourself to write robotically, stating only the concise facts of what happened and not a detail more. You're sure the other agents' reports will make up for yours, you just need to get this done and filed so you can leave. The air in the office space is suffocating.

After what feels like a short eternity, you've finally completed the report and you shut the front cover of the file and push yourself out of your chair, gritting your teeth the entire time.

"Need help?" You hear Morgan's voice behind you, and you're quick to shake your head.

"No, I'm fine, thank you." You say as you stand as straight as you can, grabbing the file off your desk with one hand, the other rests over your wound, which feel unusually warm. Fearing the worst, you make your way to Hotch's office, biting your cheek the entire way there.

When you enter his office he looks at you with uncharacteristically soft eyes. He waits for you to make the first move and you put the folder on his desk, letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. He opens the folder and reads over your work before tossing it on top of a pile of other folders.

"What's going on with you?" He asks and stands to shut his door. Hotch closes the blinds on the office windows as well, so that the other agents can't see into the room and you're thankful. Your bottom lip quivers as a sharp hot pain radiates from your wound and you feel your throat constrict. Grasping the back of a chair situated in front of his desk you lean your weight on it to try and alleviate the pain, but it isn't working.

"Let me see." Hotch stands from his desk and stands beside you. Once you feel you can stand on your own you lift the edge of your shirt up, exposing the bandage wrapped around you. From your vantage point you can see the warm red skin peeking out from the bandage.

"That's not good, that looks like it's becoming infected." Hotch's voice is thick with worry and he delicately peels back the bandage to examine the wound and you bite down on your hand to keep from crying out. The air coming into contact with it feels like he just pushed a fire poker right through the stitches.

"We're leaving right now, that's definitely infected." Hotch secures the bandage back and you shake your head.

"I'll be fine, it's just part of the healing process." You try to downplay the situation. In reality, you know that it's not good for your wound to be that red or warm, but if the two of you leave right now the others are going to know something's up. And that will inevitably lead to them hovering over you.

"No, it's not. You're going to come with me or I'll call the squad." Hotch threatens and you see no trace of a lie in his eyes or in his tone. Relenting, you agree to go with him. He leads you out of the office and you keep your head down, compelling yourself to not look at Spencer, who's undoubtedly tracking your every move.

Once you reach the parking lot Hotch begins questioning you. He helps you into his car and you let him, not having the energy to fight him.

"Have you not been taking the medicine prescribed to you? I know they gave you an antibiotic." He scolds, knowing the answer. If you had been taking them, you wouldn't be showing up to the office with an angry gunshot wound.

"Hurt too much to drive and get them." You keep your answer short and he huffs in annoyance, but starts driving somewhere to get you the medical attention you need. Deep down you're thankful Hotch cares this much, he's the closest thing to real family you have.

Last Thanksgiving the team found out that you have no family to spend the holidays with. You had never meant to tell them, but holiday plans came up in conversation and yours were painfully dull and lonely compared to theirs. But Hotch invited you to his family's Thanksgiving dinner. At first, you had declined, not wanting to intrude on his family time away from work, but he wasn't taking no for an answer. Now you're glad that he persisted and you went. His wife, Haley, took you under her wing and everything just fell into place; you're practically their surrogate daughter at this point.

After Hotch makes sure that you get looked at by a doctor, and that you actually have your intended prescriptions, he drops you off at your home and makes you promise that you'll send him a video of you taking your medicine on schedule. Knowing that if you don't, he will most definitely drive over here and count the pills, you agree. And as a punishment for not taking the medicine in the first place, he makes you agree to stay out of the office for another week.

-----

The week passes too quickly for your liking. Each day Spencer had texted you, asking if you're okay, that he's worried about you, and that he misses you. It broke your heart to not reply to him, every fiber of your being yearned to text him back, to let him know that you're okay. The temptation to abandon your decision of distancing yourself from him grew stronger each day. It became so tempting that you forced yourself to let your phone battery die and then you buried it underneath the clothes in your dresser so that it would stay out of sight.

But now, as you stare up at the office building from the parking lot, you know that you won't be able to avoid him today and you know that you're going to have to not give into temptation. Every time you want to slip, you're going to have to remind yourself that this is for his safety. You remember that you can deal with the heartbreak, the possibility of him hating you, but you'll never be able to go on if he dies. So you have to do everything in your power to make sure he will never have a reason to make a decision to take a bullet for you, like you did him.

Eventually, you walk into the office, admittedly in a lot less pain than last time. Who knew that taking your prescribed antibiotics would make your life easier? As soon as your foot crosses the threshold of the door, you feel like everyone's eyes are upon you. Instead of looking around to confirm your suspicions, you make a straight route right to your desk. But, of course that doesn't stop people from coming over.

"Back again. You look better this time." Morgan smiles and slides to sit on the edge of your desk. You smile back at him, feeling refreshed and healthier than last time.

"Feel better too. Any new cases?" You ask, hoping to establish some normalcy back into your routine. Typically, you and Spencer carpool to work together and his missing presence from your morning routine didn't go unmissed. Morgan licks his lips and nods,

"Yeah we just got back from one out in Colorado. I think there's another briefing at ten." He tells you, taking a sip of his coffee. You know you won't be let into the field yet, but you at least want to sit in on the briefing. More than likely you'll be paired with Garcia, and you're fine with that.

Morgan slides off your desk and as he moves you see Spencer staring straight at you. His eyes look bloodshot, there are dark circles under his eyes. He looks like he hasn't had a decent night of sleep for a month and his hair is a mess. His lips fall open as you two make eye contact, but you're quick to look away before you go over to comfort him. The inside of your cheeks burn from how hard you're biting them.

Once ten rolls around the team files into the conference room, and you're careful to stand in the back instead of taking your usual seat. Prentiss gives you an odd look but she doesn't say anything. It's glaringly obvious to everyone that something is off, but you assure them you should stand to help your blood circulation. As Hotch starts going over the next case you feel a familiar pair of eyes lingering on your face, but you stare right at Hotch.

Soon enough, the rest of the team is off to work a local case, and you stay in the office to help Garcia. She pulls up a chair for you to sit on, and the two of you get to work without saying a word. It's weird for there to be a silence so thick between the two of you, you two always work so well together and you love Penelope. As she waits for something to load, she taps a pen on her desk and takes a deep breath.

"What's wrong?" You ask, not being able to take it any longer. The tapping pen stills and she looks over to you with an uncertain look on her face.

"What's wrong with me? Nothing, I'm perfect as a peach." She tries to lie, but you can read her too well. Your eyebrows raise, and you push her further.

"Come on, Pen. I know you better than that. Tell me." You implore and she bites her lower lip, conflicted with herself as if she should say anything or not. But eventually your staring gets to her and she breaks.

"Fine. Fine, but you didn't hear this from me. Spencer thinks that you blame him for getting shot and that's why you've been dodging him." You've never heard such ridiculous words come out of Penelope's mouth, and you've heard her say a lot over the years. Taken aback, your mouth falls open and you blink, trying to come up with something to say.

"No. Of course it's not his fault. I pushed him out of the way, he didn't pull me into the bullet's path." You say, wanting to set the record straight. Your heart aches at the thought of Spencer beating himself up, thinking that you blame him for your own actions. You know you won't tell him this directly, but you're certain Garcia will relay the message. And that will have to be good enough.

"What's going on with you two then?" Her voice is uncharacteristically soft. You know you can't tell her what you're really doing because you know she'll fight you on it and try to dissuade you. So you choose to dodge the question altogether.

"There. The victim's information loaded." You point at her screen and she scowls at you, but turns in her chair and resumes her job anyways. While she does her research you busy yourself with putting pins on a map, trying to figure out where the unsub is going to strike next.

Later, the team returns to the office before going home for the day. You're at your desk, shutting down your computer and making sure your file drawer is locked, and when you grab the jacket off the back of your chair, you see Spencer talking to Morgan at his desk. He catches you out of the corner of his eye, and you brush past the two of them before either one of them can say something to you. Your heart shatters a little with each step, but you remind yourself why you're doing this. If you didn't, you're convinced you would have turned back and never let Spencer go.

-----

Three days later, the case is solved. The unsub basically handed the team a map right to himself and chose not to lawyer up when Hotch questioned him. It's almost like he wanted to be caught. You don't dwell on the thought too much, you're just glad another murderer is off the street. While everyone else cheers about the victory as they fill out their reports, you keep to yourself at your desk. Unlike the last report you filled out, you make sure this one is extensively detailed.

"What does everyone say? Celebration drinks tonight?" You hear Morgan's voice, eager and happy. The man loves to celebrate sometimes. The rest of the team agrees, and you finish your sentence, hoping they keep you out of it. If you stay quiet enough, you're sure they'll forget you're even here.

"Oh did someone say drinks?" Penelope walks into the bullpen to give Hotch something. Morgan fills her in on the details and of course she agrees.

"I'm assuming you're coming too, right?" You hear her voice but choose not to look up, hoping that she's talking to someone else. Unfortunately, she was not talking to someone else, and taps on your shoulder to make you look up. You see Spencer standing in the background with everyone else, but you keep your eyes trained on Penelope like he doesn't even exist.

"Oh, I don't know. I was thinking of calling it an early night." You admit, knowing full well that you had planned to sit on your couch all weekend binging some trashy reality show to distract yourself from your reality. Penelope frowns,

"Come on, you've never turned us down before. It'll be good for you." She says, and you can tell by the tone of her voice that she's not going to take no for an answer.

"Fine, I'll be there." You relent, with a tight smile on your face. She cheers and goes back to talking with Morgan, and you swivel around in your chair to finish the report. While you scribble words, you're already forming your escape plan for the night.

You'll stay for about an hour, after everyone has already had a few and then you'll excuse yourself. If you have to, you'll use your gunshot wound as an excuse; and yeah it's a cheap cop out, but if that's what it takes you'll do it. And then once you're out the doors you're free. It's a simple, yet effective, plan.

Hours later the team huddles around a table in a crowded bar. Usually you're all over celebratory drinks, you use it as an excuse to remind your coworkers of just how brilliant they are. But tonight, while the rest of them are chatting away happily, you sit on the edge, nursing your drink and looking out of the bar's front window. Spencer is seated across the table from you and you keep accidentally meeting his eyes, which makes the alcohol in your system warm your skin even more.

Spencer sure does make it hard for you to ignore him. After all, his puppy-dog eyes practically plead with you, silently begging for you to say something to him. You can see how hard he's being on himself, still probably convinced that you blame him for your wound. Even if Garcia told him otherwise, you know he will have a hard time buying it considering your actions completely contradict what you had said. While the others might not notice how miserable he is, you can tell. He hasn't gone on a random knowledge tangent since you've been back and he's been reusing the same coffee cup without washing it for the past few days.

You hate how hard Spencer makes it to actually dislike him, you hate how he's such a kindhearted person because it makes all of this ten times more difficult. If he had at least one dislikable trait then this would be easier, then you might have a chance of convincing yourself that you can't stand him, that you never liked him to begin with. Though you're not sure you could ever convince yourself of that, truly. As you take your last drink, you come to one reasonable conclusion: You hate that you love him.

Suddenly feeling like the room is closing in on you, you stand from your seat and make your way to the bartender to close your tab out for the night. Maybe you can just sneak out of here and nobody will notice. The bartender hands your card back to you, and you start heading towards the door. But of course a team of FBI agents noticed that you had left, and are now heading towards the door. Morgan is the first one to confront you.

"Going home already? It's not even nine yet!" He teases and you give him your best smile.

"Just starting to hurt a little." You ghost your fingers over your healing wound for extra measure, knowing they won't chastise you about that. It seems you've taken the low road after all.

"Want someone to take you home?" Penelope asks, and you're quick to decline, knowing exactly what kind of plan she has in store.

"No, thanks. That's alright, I don't live far. Have a good night everyone." You smile at Morgan, Penelope, and Prentiss before you leave. As you walk to your car you notice that everytime you turn away and leave Spencer, your heart fragments more and more. But you remember what's at stake, and you pick yourself up, the best you can, and keep moving forward. You know that the pain and turmoil you're feeling now will amount to nothing if something ever happens to Spencer.

-----

Months later your gunshot wound is practically completely healed. There's a scar that's going to be left behind, but you don't mind it. You're one week out from being cleared to go back into the field, and you're undergoing your evaluation now. You thought that you'd be happy and eager to get back out there, but instead you find yourself hesitant and nervous about it. Working with Garcia had made you feel safe and secure. So now, as you sit in Hotch's office, you try to find the words you're looking for. He's staring at you expectantly.

"I just. Hotch I don't know if I can go back out there." Your voice is shaky, and you're afraid this admission will get you dismissed from the team. He leans forward, elbows resting on his desk.

"You're saying you don't want to return to the field?" He tries to clarify. You take in a deep breath,

"I want to return to the field, I just don't know if I want to do it right now. I mean, I still get nightmares about being shot and it feels so real. What I'm trying to say is that I don't know how well I'd react in stressful situations right now." You tell him, hoping that this makes more sense. In a way, you're figuring out what exactly it is you want. His eyes narrow, trying to get a read on you. Hotch writes some words on the paper in front of him and sighs.

"I can give you another month. And I want you to start seeing a therapist." He says and you scoff immediately. Hotch holds his hand up to stop your protests before they even start.

"Listen. I don't know what's going on inside your mind since this all happened. But you haven't been yourself. And you haven't spoken to Spencer once. You two used to be the best of friends. It's none of my business to know, but you need to tell someone about it. Being shot like that is not something that someone gets over easily and without ramifications." He explains, and deep down you know he's right. You just don't want to confide to anyone about your issues.

"Sure." You agree, knowing that he's going to force you to see a therapist one way or another. If you tell him no now, you're sure someone will show up in the office next week to conduct some sort of "random psych evaluation". Hotch dismisses you from his office, and you make your way to the break room for some much needed caffeine.

The coffee in the pot is hot, like it's been freshly brewed. You pick a mug at random and fill it, then you sprinkle in a modest amount of sugar before tasting it. It's warm and comforting, like a hug from the inside. You close your eyes to help yourself destress from what happened in Hotch's office, but when you open them you see Spencer standing in the doorway. His hair is still wildly curly, there are still circles under his eyes from sleep deprivation. Even his clothes are wrinkled now, it looks like he doesn't take the time to iron them out anymore.

You two stare at each other with so much left unsaid, and you make a move to leave the room before you fold under the pressure. Your shoulder brushes his on the way out, and you hear him speak.

"Please. I'm sorry." You hear him plead with you and your steps falter, wanting so badly to just stop and turn around. To hold him close to you and apologize, to tell him you miss him so bad it makes your chest hurt and how life is dull without him. But instead, you take a scalding sip of coffee and keep moving forward like you never heard him. Each day that passes you find yourself hating how deeply you love him more and more, it's almost a constant burn in your veins.

You spend the rest of the day tucked away in Penelope's office, nose buried in a screen, doing the most menial research as if the fate of the world depends on it. Penelope doesn't say anything. She just sighs and helps you with the research.

-----

A few more weeks pass, and fall is now in full swing. There's a crisp chill to the air, the leaves are all turning colors and falling to the ground. And with fall comes your birthday. You have no real plans to celebrate, Hotch had given you your gift in the parking lot before work this morning, knowing that you don't like a lot attention being drawn to you, but it is nice to get a simple "happy birthday" from your friends.

The team packs up for the day, and your heart sinks with disappointment. It seems that nobody but Hotch had remembered your birthday. You convince yourself that this is a stupid reason to get sad, that they all have busy lives to keep up with. Plus, it's not like it's a milestone birthday anyways. Grabbing your jacket, you leave the office for the day with a heavy sadness taking residence in your chest.

When you arrive home, you turn some lamps on and toss your jacket over the back of the couch. You put Hotch's gift on the table, and go to the kitchen to open a bottle of wine. You don't bother pouring it into a glass, straight from the bottle will suffice just fine. Taking the bottle with you, you go to your room and change out of your work clothes. As you rummage through the drawers, you find your phone still sitting in the bottom of one of them.

You had never found the courage to charge it back up, afraid to see what words had been left for you. But tonight, you figure it's about time you confront your own feelings. You plug the phone in and set it on your nightstand, taking another swig of the wine and waiting for it to charge.

After what feels like hours, the phone finally turns back on. And within minutes, the notifications start pouring in. Text after text after text rolls in and the missed calls start to pile up. With another drink, you take your phone in your hand and read over the messages. There are exactly fifty seven messages from Spencer and thirty missed calls.

Your eyes scan the texts he sent you, his words sinking into the fibers of your very being, and you're saddled with an intense sorrow. Tears fall from your cheeks onto the phone's screen and you stop reading, not being able to take it anymore. All of his texts were him apologizing to you, begging you to please talk to him. You listen to the voicemails he left, hearing his voice crack and listening to him sniffle as he pleads for you to please just say something, anything. You can almost visualize him in your mind, wiping his tears as he tells you how sorry he is and how he misses you more than anything. He's begging and apologizing as if he's the one who has done anything wrong here. You hate yourself more than anything for letting him suffer like this.

You leave your phone on your nightstand and grab the wine, returning to your kitchen table, where Hotch's gift sits perfectly wrapped. Taking it in your hands, you unwrap it and look inside the box, heart stilling as you see what's inside. With trembling fingers, you grab the frame and hold it in front of your face. Hotch had given you a framed photo of the team, a picture in which Spencer is holding you tightly against his side, and you're looking up at him with stars in your eyes. The frame slips through your fingers and clatters onto the table.

You support yourself on the back of a chair, and you finally let yourself feel everything you had suppressed over the last few months. Sobs shake your body and the tears fall onto the photo. Your hands clutch the back of the chair until your knuckles turn white, afraid that if you let go you'll collapse to the ground.

A knock at the door catches you off guard and you try to level out your breathing, using the back of your hand to wipe the tears from your cheeks. You aren't expecting anyone, and you almost consider just leaving it be, but your curiosity gets the best of you. Knowing that you probably look deranged and pathetic, you open the door anyways.

Spencer stands in the doorway, a small box in his hands along with a bouquet of your favorite fresh-cut flowers.

Your mouth falls open, and you think your heart might actually jump out of your chest. He looks you over, an obvious concern coming over his face. You should shut the door on him, tell him to go away, but your resolve has crumbled, like dust in the wind.

"Can I come in?" He whispers, and you nod, letting him inside your home, where he's been so many times but now it feels like the first time all over again. Your house is in a state of disarray, and if you hadn't just been sobbing over a photo of him, you might care more. You wipe more tears from your eyes and you clear your throat, not exactly sure what to say or do. But thankfully, he speaks up again.

"Happy birthday." His voice is soft, and he gives you a small smile, but the sadness is evident in his eyes.

"You didn't have to get me anything." You say, looking at the beautiful flowers and carefully wrapped box, topped with a ribbon of your favorite color. He takes a step towards you, and hands you the flowers first. As you take them, your fingers brush his and it feels like the air has been kicked out of your lungs.

"I know, but I wanted to." He says, meeting your eyes. You catch the scent of the flowers, appreciating their freshness and the life they bring to your otherwise sad home. Making your way into your kitchen, you find a vase to put the flowers in and then you set them on the table. Spencer's eye catches the photo, and you know he can see the wetness that still adorns the frame. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to put the pieces together.

"Thank you, Spencer." You say after you position the flowers just right. Willingly, you catch his eye and you know you can never go back to ignoring him after this. He glances from you, to the photo, then back to you before he hands you the box. Lifting the top off, you see a beautiful gold chain inside that has a beautiful gemstone pendant hanging from it.

"I picked the stone because it reminded me of your eyes." He sheepishly admits, and you look up at him through your lashes with the purest and deepest love flowing through you. But through that love, the guilt eats you alive.

"Spencer, this is too much. I've been horrible to you lately, I don't deserve this. And I definitely don't deserve your kindness." You say, looking into his gorgeous, kind eyes. The tension is noticeable between you, and you wish it would melt away and that you two could go back to how things used to be.

"I've missed you so much." Is all he says, voice cracking and you see tears gather in his eyes. Unable to help yourself, you set the necklace on the table and close the gap between the two of you, resting your hand on his cheek. Your bottom lip trembles,

"I'm so sorry Spencer. I'm so sorry." You say, tears once again flowing down your face. He sniffles as a tear runs down his cheek onto your thumb.

"Why?" Is all he asks but you know exactly what he means. You decide to come clean to him, there's no use of lying now.

"When I got shot, I realized that if you had been the one who got hit, and you didn't make it, that I wouldn't be able to live. The thought of living in a world without you is too much. So I had to make sure that I didn't give you a reason to make the same choice I did. I could live with you hating me, but I couldn't live in a world without you. I wanted you to hate me so that you wouldn't risk your life for me." Your thumb gently brushes his cheekbone, trembling with your words. He closes his eyes as tears keep falling down his cheeks. One of his hands comes up and grabs yours that's on his face, and he grips it tight.

"When I realized you had taken the bullet for me, I knew that nothing would be the same between us. I thought I was going to lose you. Your blood was on my hands, and it's the only thing I have nightmares about anymore. And this made me realize that I can never stop loving you, no matter what happens." He admits, causing you to cry harder. The remorse you feel for putting him through so much torment feels like it's eating you from the inside. You should have been there for him.

"I'm so sorry." Is all you can say, it's all you can express to him right now. He needs to know that you didn't mean any of it. Spencer pulls you in for a hug and holds you tight against him. One of his hands cradles the back of your head, the other is secure around your waist. Your tears stain his sweater, and the two of you let out everything.

When you finally pull back from the hug you grab his face with gentle hands, making him look at you.

"Spencer, I love you so much. I need you to know that I did what I did because I love you too much to lose you." You admit to him and he smiles. A genuine smile that you haven't seen in months. Through the tears and emotions, you two smile widely at one another.

Spencer closes the gap between the two of you, and tilts your chin up. Your lips connect with his ever so softly, and you pull him closer to you, your hands trailing down his torso, collecting fistfuls of his sweater. One of his hands rests on your cheek, brushing your cheekbone and the other keeps you close to him.

Everything that has gone unsaid is spoken loud and clear as you kiss one another. When your lungs start burning, begging for air, you break away and lean your forehead on his chest. He brushes your hair with his fingers and you feel him press a tender kiss to the top of your head. You stay entangled with each other in a comfortable silence before you look up at him,

"We'll be alright." You tell him, knowing that the two of you will be able to mend each other in time. And things may never be like they were, and that's okay.

"We'll be alright." He confirms, kissing your forehead.

Eventually, you two move to the couch and you ask him to clasp the necklace around your neck. In the soft, warm glow of the lamps you look into his eyes and can see all of the love he holds for you. You take one of his hands in yours and he positions himself so that you can lay back against him. He's warm, and being held by him feels like home.

Laying in his arms, you decide you don't want to return to the field. After all, if you're not in the field he won't ever be faced with the decision to take a bullet for you or not. As long as he's in your life, and you're in his, things will be okay. Before you drift off to sleep, you lean up and press a kiss to his temple.

You have everything you need right here in your arms.

417 notes · View notes

unseededtoast · 14 days

Text

Incredibly thankful for each and every single one of you. Every day I am blown away by the support received, and I’m still shocked so many people bother to read my stories. To each one of you, I appreciate you more than you know and I hope to continue to write stories you enjoy💛💛

Shadow of Obsession Part Two coming tonight

Turtle Doves Part Twelve coming tonight

#follower appreciation #follower appretiation post #thankful #thank you #forehead kisses for each one of u

2 notes · View notes

unseededtoast · 19 days

Text

Shadow of Obsession | Part Two Preview

Spencer Reid x Reader. First Part here, link to my masterlist

Full Part Two

"This is-this is not a coincidence." He confirms your fears and you nod, fighting back the bile in your throat.

"What do these flowers mean, Spence?" You ask him, trying to keep your voice level to mask just how unnerved you are. He sighs and looks at the flowers before speaking.

"Red represents passion and love, yellow stands for hopeless love and jealousy, and white is forgiveness." He says, your eyes moving to each color as he speaks.

"It's like whoever sent these is telling you they forgive you of something, and that they still hold strong romantic feelings." His words do not comfort you.

"I'm not sure." Spencer's voice is still soft, and he lays the note next to the vase.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid series #mgg #criminal minds fandom #bau team #doctor spencer reid

48 notes · View notes

unseededtoast · 19 days

Text

Turtle Doves | Joel Miller

Part Eleven

Chapter Directory

Series Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, death, and sexual content.

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted!

"I don't feel right dragging you into these things. We got lucky the past two times but sooner or later luck runs out."

After walking several miles in the heat, Joel eventually finds a shaded spot for us to take a break. He puts his things down and walks off, leaving me by myself. Without thinking about my actions, I put my bag down and sit, bringing my knees up to my chest. What I should be doing is ripping the map out of my bag and taking note of where the other stars are located, but I can't seem to make my arms move.

A small part of my mind thinks I'm overreacting. At the end of the day, nothing happened to me, they weren't able to fulfill their twisted plans. But I can't seem to shake the ghostly feeling of the man's hands on my hips, the feeling of him trying to get my pants off. My chest can still feel the man on top of me, holding me hostage against the floor. Is this what the children felt before they were murdered? The thought of children experiencing, to a harsher extent, what I just did is an unbearable thought.

Joel walks back to me and wipes his hands on his pants. From my peripheral I can see him look down at me, but he doesn't say anything. Truthfully, there are no words he could say that would break my mind out of this foggy trance. It's almost surreal to think about what could have happened if Joel wasn't there to save me. As the thought dawns on me, I look up to him. I see dried blood on his hands and some splattered on his shirt.

I know I should be thanking him vehemently right now, but it's as if my mouth has been sewn shut. My body has weirdly shut down on me, maybe as some sort of stress response or something. His eyes tear away from me and he puts his bag on his back, probably wanting to keep going. We still have a few more hours of sunlight left and we need to make the most of it. Staying out here in the open at night is not a situation I want to be in. So I force myself up and put my bag back on my shoulders.

Our boots crunch the small pebbles on the pavement as the two of us move forward. Typically, during these bouts of silence my mind is on the killers, but only the recurring images of the men back at the town are found. With each step I try to work through the thoughts, knowing I can't allow myself to be stuck in this state of mind forever.

When I left Boston I knew that people like them were out here. I guess a delusional part of me just never thought I'd actually encounter them. It's obvious to me now that I had been completely ignorant and naive when I decided to go to Omaha. Had Joel not been there with me, I likely would have died in that town. And this trip would have been made in vain.

Instead of dwelling on what could have been, I guess I should be thankful that it ended when it did. Some people don't get as lucky as I did, if luck is really the right word to describe the situation. Those men are dead now, no longer able to prey upon anyone else who stumbles into their town, and for that I am thankful.

Joel and I walk until the sun begins setting and we find ourselves in a less-than-ideal spot. There are really no places to hunker down for the night, no houses or businesses for miles. We're passing through a part of the country that's mainly taken up by forest. By the time we find somewhere to call it a night, the moon is fully up in the sky.

There's a small campground tucked away in some trees, I can make out the silhouettes of campers through the woods. My hearing becomes hyper-aware of the surroundings, listening for any infected, or people, that may be watching us. Snapping twigs and branches are the only sounds I can hear, but that doesn't stop me from being paranoid.

We choose an average-looking camper on the outskirts and make sure it's clear before we take our bags off our backs for the night. It's arguably one of my favorite parts of the day. The camper is a plain beige in color, but alike other buildings, is now adorned with vined plants. There's a small fire pit in front of it, surrounded by run-down chairs, but it's more than enough for me.

Joel lets me in the camper as he goes about trying to find firewood. Out in the middle of nowhere it's probably safe to start a fire. Sure, there's still some risk but it's not nearly as high as it would be near a town. While he goes off to do that, I place my bag on the floor in front of the pull-out bed. There's only one bed in the camper, and I know I'm going to give it to Joel. It's quite literally the very least I can do for him, and I feel guilty for staying silent all day now that I've had time to process what happened in town.

While Joel is gone, I take the time to clean up the bed for him. I strip the old sheets from the mattress and rummage around until I find a clean set up in one of the cupboards. They're a nice airy linen and I know fresh sheets are hard to come by nowadays. I tuck the corners underneath the mattress, put the new pillow cases on, and smooth out the top sheet. As a finishing touch, I fold the top down to make it look nice for him.

Feeling overly cautious tonight, I wait for him to return before I leave the camper. I hear wood clattering to the ground upon his arrival, he must have found some decent pieces. The camper door squeaks as I exit, and he spares me a glance before constructing the fire. I sit in one of the chairs while he lights the wood, watching as it smokes before catching the flame. He takes his bag inside the camper as well, but comes back only seconds later. Taking a seat across from me, we both stare into the fire.

The flames flicker and dance with shades of orange and yellow, giving us warmth for the chilly night. My eyes glance up to Joel, who's staring at the fire with intensity, like he's deep in thought. I know I've put this off for too long, and I clear my throat to finally break the silence. I'm not sure what I want to say, and a simple thank you seems too mundane for what he did for me. I bite the inside of my cheek and decide to just find the words as I go. He looks up to me, waiting for me to spit something out.

"Um, I want to say thank you for what you did back there." I'm unable to keep eye contact with him, my eyes turn down from his.

"Was nothin'." He casually speaks, his voice gruff from not using it all day. My head shakes back and forth, knowing he's lying.

"No, it wasn't nothing. You've saved my life twice now, and what have I done for you? Got us into situations where we both could've been killed." Guilt lays heavy in my stomach and I start to feel ashamed of myself. Finding some shred of courage, I look back up to him.

"Coulda happened to anyone." He reasons, but I know he's only being polite. I'm not sure why he's being so cordial about it, most people would be furious I almost got them killed. Nervously, I lace my fingers together and pick at the skin next to my thumbnail.

"Maybe so, but I don't feel right dragging you into these things. We got lucky the past two times but sooner or later luck runs out. What I'm trying to say is that I'm giving you an out. You don't have to let me tag along anymore, it's okay. I understand." As the words leave my mouth, I feel stinging tears in my eyes. I'm frustrated with myself for risking this man's life, mad at myself for being so useless. Joel's eyes stare into mine, and I can almost swear he can see into my soul.

"If I left behind everyone who I got into a sticky situation with, I'd have nobody." His words are slow and intentional. A nagging thought eats away at me,

"You have a family to get back to, Joel. Those people miss you, they need you. I don't have anyone waiting for me." The truth hurts when I hear it out loud, and it's like someone has stabbed me through the heart as I put my thoughts into the world. Joel shakes his head, disagreeing with what I'm saying.

"What about James?" I almost laugh at his words, but play it off as a cough and rub my nose.

"James? No. He just keeps me around because I bring in the extra ration cards. I think his wife hates me if I'm being honest." I grimace, knowing that James' wife definitely doesn't like me, and only tolerates me because she too benefits from the pill running.

"He cares about you." Joel's words are unusually soft and genuine. I put my restless hands on my knees and shift my weight around in the chair.

"Well, that may be so, but he's not family. I lost mine ten years ago. But you still have yours, you need to get back to them alive. These days family is the most precious thing to have, and I'll never forgive myself if something happens to you because of me." My throat constricts with emotion, and images of my late husband and precious baby pop in my mind. The tears from earlier fall down my cheeks, and I try to wipe them casually so Joel doesn't see.

The conversation seems to die, the crackling fire fills the air. My chest rattles with a jagged breath and I chew on my bottom lip to keep from losing it all. Joel rubs his hands together and opens his mouth, but closes it. A deep frown has settled on his face, but I don't push him for answers. Instead, I focus my attention down to my hands and pick the hangnail I started earlier. The skin is almost peeled off completely until Joel's voice speaks up.

"What are you going to do after Omaha?" He asks, and it's the last thing I figured he'd ask me. My eyebrows raise slightly and I shrug.

"Probably go back to Boston. There's nothing for me anywhere else." He nods his head and looks back into the fire.

"I meant what I said back by Boston, it's still safer if we travel together. I'm not takin' the out." He says as he stares into the flames. My eyes stare at his face intently, trying to figure out why this man is being so forgiving and kind to me. He owes me no loyalty and in fact, I'm the one who owes him. I owe him more than I can ever repay.

"How far do you have to travel after Omaha?" Curiosity gets the best of me, and I'm taking his newly conversational attitude as an invitation to ask my own questions. He puffs out a breath,

"A while. I'm headed out to Wyoming." He says and I can tell he's withholding some information, which is fine. I know he's likely only doing so to protect his family's whereabouts, and after all, I'm still pretty much a stranger to him. I've only known him for a handful of days.

"That's quite a ways. But I'm sure they'll all be happy to see you again." The thought of having a family to return to makes my heart ache with a longing that I know can never be filled. My fingers grasp the gold chain around my neck, and I see Joel's eyes on the necklace, but he doesn't say anything.

What I wouldn't give to be able to hold my baby one more time. I miss his little hands reaching out for me, begging to be picked up. His laugh that used to carry through the house. And I miss Ryan's touch, his cool and confident nature. I miss the way he used to come home with a dozen colored roses, knowing that even though I was a florist, I still loved being gifted flowers. He would always pick "the most beautiful ones for his most beautiful girl" he always told me. They were the lights of my life, and since that fateful night, my heart has been filled with the ash of the extinguished flame.

Before I can stop them, tears run down my face and I can only hope the darkness of night masks them. How can I possibly be okay with following Joel, putting him at risk, when I know what his stakes are? He probably has his own kid waiting for him, his own wife worried if she'll ever see him again or not. I wish I could make him go so that I'm not a liability.

My sniffling nose gives away that I'm crying and I quickly get up from my spot, not wanting to burden Joel with my own issues. I turn away from him and walk into the woods, but not far enough that I lose sight of the fire. Strained sobs come over me, the stress and sadness of the day all coming down on me at once. Maybe I'm just too fragile to be doing this, maybe I simply am just not strong enough.

I slouch against a tree and put my head in my hands, wiping the tears and rubbing my nose. I haven't cried this much since the first year of the outbreak and here I am, faced with adversity and crumbling under the pressure. It's pathetic, and I hate that I'm not resilient enough to handle things better.

Once my tears dry I decide to just stay out here in the tranquil woods for a little longer. While I sit here, I try to prepare myself for Joel going back on his word, saying that he's going to be taking the out after all. Maybe he mulled over my words and realized that I am right, that he needs to get rid of me and get back to his family. I wouldn't blame him in the slightest.

After a while I notice the flame of the fire dying out, and so I force myself to get up and go back, no matter how humiliating it is. My boots stomp down the overgrown vegetation as I return and luckily there's still a small flame going. Joel's leaning up against the camper, his arms crossed over his chest. He hears me walking and looks over.

"I'll stay out here for the night to keep watch. There's um, I saw a pull-out bed in there." My hand gestures towards the camper, insinuating that I want him to take it. His eyes narrow and his head shakes,

"No that's okay, I can take watch." He says and I can't help but feel anger rise in me. I take a breath,

"No, I want you to take it. Please, take it. You saved me from the infected, you saved me from those men back there. It's the least I can do and doesn't even begin to repay what you've done. So please, take it." My voice is strained, and it comes out harsher than I intend it to. I drop my hand back down to my side and return to my seat by the fire pit, the smoke burning my lungs as I deeply breathe it in.

"You don't owe me anything." His words cause me to no longer be able to bite my tongue and all of my pent up emotions pour out,

"Joel, I swear if you fight me on one more damn thing I say I'm going to lose my fucking mind. Please, take the bed. This is something I can actually do for you, so please, let me." My voice is full of finality. I stare at him with wide eyes until he finally moves, and thankfully he doesn't fight me. Instead, he turns and opens the camper door, retreating inside for the night.

With a huff, I turn around in my seat and run a hand over my face before I toss another log onto the fire. I curl up in the seat and hug my knees close to me, resting my chin on my kneecaps.

Tonight my thoughts are occupied with Joel and where we go from here. It's clear that he's not going to leave, he's stubborn as hell about staying true to his word. Deep down I know I'm far too inadequate to be making this trip, but I can't be the reason he never returns to his family. The sadness from earlier morphs into resolve, and I promise myself to be stronger and smarter. For Joel, his family, and for the children I'm seeking to avenge.

The start of this journey shows me that I have to become tougher to survive this. This world is not for the weak, and right now I am weak. My time in Boston gave me the illusion that I was tough because I was able to smuggle pills and stand up to men I know wouldn't have touched me. But out here, I have no guarantees of safety anymore. The QZ is a playground in comparison.

Throughout the night I have to keep getting up and walking around to keep myself awake. The warmth of the fire invites me to fall asleep, but I can't. I promised Joel that I would stay up, and I can't go breaking my promises to him. I'd be lying if I said my eyelids weren't heavy, in fact, I think they weight about twenty pounds each now. At one point, I find myself smacking my cheeks to stay alert. The sounds of owls and crickets in the night doesn't help my cause. I'm stuck in the most picturesque place to sleep but am not allowed to indulge.

After hours and hours of keeping myself awake, I hear the morning birds start singing their songs and the warm glow of the morning sun can be seen. I slouch down in my seat, happy that the morning is finally rolling around. However, my happiness is short lived as I realize we still have to walk all day long.

The door of the camper opens and my head whips around to see Joel walking out, his wavy brown hair tousled from his restful night. He rubs his eyes and yawns as he comes to the fire pit, and I find myself yawning right after him. He's up earlier than I thought he would be, but I'm not complaining, it got lonely out here after a while.

I stretch my legs out in front of me and look over to Joel, who's taken the seat next to me. His face still looks like he's half asleep as he blankly stares at the dying fire in front of us.

"Go on and get some sleep." His deep, raspy morning voice says. A faint blush finds its way on my face at the tone of his voice, but I quickly push the thought from my mind.

"We gotta get going though." I say, yawning again. Joel looks to me with an incredulous look on his face.

"Don't fight me on it, just go do it. I'm gonna scout this place for a car, see if I can't get one of 'em started." He says and runs a hand over his face to wake himself up.

"Well I can help you." I offer and he shakes his head and stares at me with an expression that lets me know he's not thrilled I'm arguing with him already. He sighs,

"And you were tellin' me not to fight you." I look away from him. I know he has a point but I don't want to admit it. I shrug my shoulders, my stubborn nature not letting me cave.

"I'm not fighting, I'm offering help." I rebut. His eyebrow raises,

"I'm not tellin' you again. Go get some rest. If I need you, I'll come get you." He says, voice warming up for the day, the deep rasp disappearing as he speaks.

"What if something happens?" I ask, knowing that bad things can happen in the blink of an eye. My tone must tell him I'm not fighting, but instead am genuinely worried.

"Nothing is going to happen. I'm not going far and I keep an eye on my surroundings." He reassures me, and I know he's telling the truth. Well, about him being cautious anyways. He knows how to survive in this world.

Reluctantly, I get up and accept his offer, the thought of sleeping on a mattress is far too tempting. I open the camper door and enter it, seeing our bags placed side by side. The sheets on the bed are rustled and I smile to myself, happy that I was able to do that for him, and I hope he slept well because of it. Taking a few steps across the camper, I crawl onto the bed and sprawl out, thankful for the mattress. Compared to my mattress at the QZ, this is like sleeping on a cloud.

Rolling onto my side, I grab a handful of the sheets and breathe in the freshness. Joel's scent hits my nose, a mix of smoke from the fire and cotton flannel. It's a warm, comforting smell and I close my eyes to appreciate it.

His smell makes me feel safe, it lets me know that he's here and he's watching out for us. The rugged smell lulls me to sleep, and for once I'm not haunted by the images of the murdered children or the ghostly feeling of the men in the town.

#joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller hbo #joel miller pedro pascal #pedro pascal #tlou #the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fic #the last of us fic #tlou fic #tlou fanfic #ellie williams #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller series

19 notes · View notes

unseededtoast · 27 days

Text

Shadow of Obsession | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Part One

Series summary: In which you find that love is an obsession that can quickly spiral out of control.

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted!

a/n: trying out something new! I've wanted to make a series for a long time and finally decided to just do it. I hope you all enjoy and buckle up for the ride:)

He can try all he wants to keep me from her, but I'm the only one who will have her in the end.

Unknown POV

Rain drizzles down from the evening sky and the streetlights illuminate the puddles forming on the sidewalk. My shoes are soaked from the walk here; I had hoped to arrive sooner, so that I could get a better seat, but once again work kept me too late.

Trying to brush off the inconvenience I walk into the bar and immediately find who I'm looking for. My heart starts racing and I feel blood rush to my face. The bar is busy, crowded, warm, and loud. Taking a seat at one of the only open spots I order a drink and glance over at the woman I came here for. I knew she'd be here.

Her smile is bright and inviting, her eyes sparkle with the shine of a thousand stars. Her hair looks incredibly soft and sleek under the dim lights. The way she laughs is music to my ears, and the way her clothes cling to her curves is like a work of sacred art.

I take a sip of the cold beer and let my eyes wander over her body. My hand starts to tremble; the sight of her is other-worldly but I can't help but to imagine what her skin would feel like under my fingertips.

Before I know it, my glass is empty and I feel the slight buzz coursing through my veins. But I think I need just one more before I can approach her. I order another quickly, my eyes not wanting to stray from her captivating form for even a second. She's laughing with her friends, and oh, how I long to be one of them. And soon I will be, if things go according to plan.

The song playing changes and some of her coworkers, who double as friends, drag her to the floor to dance, though there's not much room to do so. She moves her body to the rhythm effortlessly, and I can't believe how she makes everything look so natural and easy. The light shines and illuminates the sheer layer of sweat on her chest, it almost makes me choke on my drink.

She starts dancing on one of her friends who cheers her on and it brings a smile to my face. She deserves to let loose and be happy. After all, she works too hard and isn't appreciated enough. Not by her team at least, but I do. I appreciate her more than they ever could. And soon she'll know that as well.

Unfortunately I'm not the only one who seems to notice her beauty. I see several eyes on her body as she moves, and it makes my blood boil. They have no right to look at her in such a lustful way. They couldn't appreciate and savor all she has to offer like I could. No, they couldn't. It would be impossible.

Feeling the courage from the alcohol and the adrenaline from my rage, I set my glass down on the table and wipe my mouth. She's still dancing and I know this is my chance. I straighten out my clothes and fix my hair before I start walking over to her.

She hasn't spotted me moving through the crowd, and with each step closer my heart pounds heavier and heavier with excitement. I've waited for this moment for so long.

Pushing past other patrons my steps become quicker and more urgent. I just can't wait any longer. She's right in front of me, not even twenty feet away.

But just before I break into her line of sight my steps cease in an instant. As the song comes to an end I watch as she laughs and throws her arms around a tall, slender man, who looks down at her with a wide smile.

I grit my teeth as I watch his hands settle on her waist. I notice the way his fingers linger, the way he looks at her with infatuation. He gets to work with her all day long, and yet he steals my chance? He's had years to make a move and hasn't, but just as I'm about to talk to her he decides to put his arms around her body?

He leans down and says something in her ear which makes her nod. They go back to their table and he grabs his belongings as well as hers, and then they say goodbye to their friends, who wish them a good night.

From the shadows of the crowd I watch as he leaves with her tucked under his arm, and her leaning into him. I watch as he takes keys from her bag and leads her to a car parked in the lot. He opens the passenger door for her to get in, and shuts it for her before he takes up the driver's seat.

Now outside on the sidewalk, I see them drive off into the rainy night. My fists seem to have clenched themselves into tight fists, my nails leaving crescent-shaped indents in my palms.

As I walk home the scene keeps replaying itself in my head. The way his hands touched her, the way he leaned down and talked to her. How she accepted his invitation and left with him. How happy she looked to be leaving the bar with him, and how she allowed him to touch her. The image of his fingers on her waist seems to burn itself into the backs of my eyelids.

And I know this night will continue to haunt me for a long time. But I won't give up on her, I can't and I won't. Once she sees how devoted I am to her, she will have to choice but to choose me.

Even if I have to get some people out of my way, I know that she will be mine soon.

- - - - -

The sun breaks through the window curtains and the morning birds chirp their songs that flow through the crisp air. It's a warm morning, and you're thankful your boss gave you permission to come in later today.

Stretching your limbs, you take a deep breath and savor the moment of peace. You don't get many quiet moments these days and so you take extra care to enjoy them while they last.

After looking out of the window from your bed for a few minutes, you roll over and grab your phone, wanting to thank Spencer for bringing you home last night. Quite honestly you had a few too many drinks, more than you were planning. But you knew you could count on Spencer to get you home safely, he always does.

Spencer has been one of your closest friends for years. Having started at the BAU around the same time, it was only natural that you two stuck together. And thankfully you two clicked, like two pieces of a puzzle.

You send him a quick good morning message before getting out of bed. On a lazy morning like this, you decide to make yourself breakfast instead of hastily grabbing whatever is in the pantry like you usually do.

After you make yourself some waffles and sit down you notice a sticky note on the table next to your car keys. Taking it in your hand, you read Spencer's scrawled message,

"Made sure to lock your door on my way out. Oh and I took a cookie from the counter as a thank you"

You smile at his silliness and let the note rest beside your plate. Spencer's been over to your apartment more times than you can count, sometimes it feels like he's a part-time resident here. You've joked around and told him you're going to start charging him rent, to which he just smiled about.

Eventually the clock turns to the next hour and you know that your peaceful morning has come to an end. Lazily, you put your plate in the sink and go get ready for the day. You don't put a lot of effort into your outfit as you know today will be a paperwork day.

Walking into the bullpen you realize that you're the last one in. Everyone else is already getting to work on their reports but you decide to stall for just a little bit longer and take a detour to the break room for a cup of coffee. Not that you need it, but you really don't want to fill out paperwork, it's your least favorite part of the job.

You pour the hot coffee into your favorite mug and spoon some sugar in when Derek walks in with a smirk on his face. And not his usual good morning smile, no, this one is a devious smirk.

"What?" You question him, curious as to what he's up to. He crosses his arms as you sip on the too-hot coffee.

"Someone left you some pretty flowers on your desk, who's your loverboy?" He asks and you about choke on your coffee.

"Someone left flowers on my desk?" You ask, surprised. Nobody has ever brought you flowers before. Derek nods and looks back towards your desk.

"Looks like it." He says and the two of you walk out to your desk together, curious to know who left these for you.

Sure enough, there's a bouquet of pink roses sitting on your desk in a beautiful glass vase. And judging from the size of arrangement, these flowers cost a pretty penny. Your eyebrows raise in surprise and you look for a card within the arrangement.

Hidden in the greenery is a small card and you pull it out carefully. Inside, your eyes read over the words a few times to try and make sense of who these could be from.

"Well, what does it say? Who is it from?" Derek impatiently asks. You show him the card and shrug,

"I have no idea." You answer as he reads the note aloud.

"Your brilliant mind deserves to be celebrated, there will be more of these to come." His smirk turns downward and his eyebrows furrow in confusion.

As you and Derek think about who these could be from, Spencer walks back to his desk which is situated just across from yours. He notices the two of you before his eyes settle on the flowers.

"Who are those from?" He asks, looking between you and Derek. With a sigh, you show him the card as well.

"No idea." You tell him, and he reads the note a few times over as well before studying the flowers. He bites on his lower lip as he thinks, and you hope his infinite knowledge will come in handy.

"Pink roses historically symbolize adoration and appreciation." He says confidently. His clue offers little to no insight about who could've done this.

Had the flowers been delivered without a note, you could've brushed it off as a simple, yet unexpected, gift. But the vague note seems odd. Something about it just doesn't feel right, the wording reminds you of not only a promise, but perhaps a veiled threat.

But maybe you're just overreacting. After all, it's in your nature to jump to the worst conclusion. Considering what you deal with on a daily basis, it's like a reflex to assume the worst.

Trying to ease your mind, you place the flowers to the side of your desk. You still want to admire them, but you just want to forget the odd note that accompanied them. Derek walks back off to his desk and you know you've procrastinated long enough. The file is already on your desk, it's just waiting for you to fill it out.

Recalling the last mission easily, you fill out the paperwork quickly, hoping to be done with it soon. You hate paperwork and you wish Hotch would've accepted your bribe; he would do your paperwork and you would pick up his dry cleaning. He turned you down and told you to quit being so dramatic about a little bit of paperwork and advised you to not try to bribe another team member. You knew he meant Spencer, and you knew it would be obvious if Spencer started filling out your reports. His are always detailed, while yours are not.

The day drags on slowly and you take several breaks throughout the day. You like having downtime, but at the same time you hate it. You want to be using your mind for something useful, and in between cases there's a lull that drives you just a little bit mad.

For lunch, you and Spencer decide to try the new deli down the road. It's a nice enough day, so the two of you decide to walk there and enjoy the fresh air. And as you wait for the elevator, a maintenance crew begins unloading. You knew they had been replacing cameras in the lower levels, but didn't know they were going to be moving up here. There are several men with ladders, tool boxes, and cameras that cause a flurry of momentary chaos.

One of the men bumps into you and you apologize, feeling like you're in the way when in reality they're the ones disrupting the status quo. Eventually, they all disperse into the office space and begin working, allowing you and Spencer to leave.

-----

"What are you plans for the weekend?" You ask Spencer as you take a bite of your sandwich. With no case, you decide you might as well try to plan something. Something noncommittal enough that if a case does come in it's no big deal to cancel, but something to look forward to if you stay in the area all weekend. He swallows and shrugs his shoulders,

"I didn't really have any plans. I guess I might rearrange my bookshelves or something." He takes another bite, looking absolutely in love with his sandwich.

"As fun as that sounds, how about you come over and help me put up some curtains. I don't feel like getting the stepladder out. I'll pay you by making dinner." You say, knowing that he will more than likely accept. The two of you always end up spending some time together if you have a free weekend. Spencer takes a drink and looks as if he's deep in thought before sighing,

"You drive a hard bargain, I'll do it. Oh, and can you please make those brownies? The ones with the chocolate chips?" He asks, eyes lighting up at the thought of your brownies. The man has a sugar addiction and it's one that you always end up feeding into.

"But I just made you cookies." You say, remembering the one he took from the counter last night.

"Okay?" He asks as if you just made the most ridiculous statement he's ever heard. You wipe your hands on your napkin and shake your head,

"You know it wouldn't be the end of the world if you tried a vegetable once." You tease him. He feigns insult before throwing the argument right back at you,

"And it wouldn't be the end of the world if you made some brownies." He's got a humorous glint in his eye that you know you won't be able to resist. With a resigned sigh you finish your drink.

"I guess I could make some brownies." You give in, just like you always do. It's rare that you ever deny Spencer something, you've got a soft spot for him. If it were any of your other teammates you don't think you'd have an issue telling them no, but for Spencer, you always seem to crumble.

The two of you finish lunch quickly and get back to the office, hoping the others don't notice how you went over your allotted lunch hour. You and Spencer walk side by side, bumping into each other every few steps. His hair blows in the wind and it reminds you to ask him if he wants a haircut sometime this weekend.

When you get back to the office the camera installers are still there, some working right near your desk. And you take it as a sign to turn your report in to Hotch, who's hunched over his desk reading over someone else's report. He looks up as you walk in and thanks you for your report.

"Did you do it yourself?" He asks, but you can sense the humorous undertone, one that you don't usually get from Hotch. Rolling your eyes with a smile, you ensure to him that you're the only one who wrote the report. And right as you go to walk out, an idea comes to your mind.

"So, is there a way to see who sent those flowers? It's just, I don't know it just seems really weird to me." You tell him, knowing that your worries are safe with Hotch. His eyebrows furrow before he speaks.

"Well, I would say check the cameras but I don't know if the footage would be there, considering they're replacing them. Go check with Garcia." He says and you nod, thanking him as you leave.

You head to Garcia's office to find that she's looking at shoes online. It seems the downtime gets to her as well. But when she sees you walk in, her face lights up.

"To what do I owe the honor?" She overplays, causing you to smile.

"I'm hoping you could help me out." You say and go to take a seat beside her in front of her numerous monitors.

"Your wish is my command." She says with a smirk.

"So these flowers showed up at my desk this morning and I just want to see who dropped them off is all." You tell her, concealing your concerns. If you know Penelope, you know that if you show your worries then she will not stop until she finds an answer, and you don't want to inconvenience her like that.

She spins in her chair and starts typing, bringing up some camera footage. You intently watch as she starts scrubbing through the footage, looking for anything helpful. Her eye is better trained than yours though, and she's able to fly through the footage of each camera in record time. And then she goes back through again.

"Sorry, it looks like they were replacing the cameras in the lobby from six this morning to just before noon." She turns to look at you, and you do your best to hide your disappointment.

"That's okay, thank you." You say, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. You were hoping she would have a workaround for this, but if there were no cameras in place, there's nothing she can work with.

"Of course. Sorry I couldn't find anything." She says, but you can tell she's holding back from saying what she really wants to.

"What is it? I know that look." You ask, curious as to what is going on inside her mind.

"It's just odd. You receive flowers on the day the camera footage is unavailable. But, I'm sure it's just a really weird coincidence." She offers a strained smile and your insides feel like they're being twisted around.

"Yeah, probably just one of those things." You try to brush it off, but as you walk back to the bullpen the situation begins to bother you even more.

-----

The smell of brownies drifts around your apartment as you wait for Spencer to arrive. You had made sure to make the brownies for him, just as he requested. And though you're tired from work, you felt it was necessary to make sure you do this for him seeing as how he's going to be hanging your curtains for you.

A knock at the door startles you out of your trance and you move to let Spencer in. He's changed from his work clothes and has a grin on his face as he walks through the door.

"I thought I smelled brownies." He says as he takes his shoes off. Spencer wastes no time in making himself comfortable in your home seeing as how your apartment is basically his second home.

"I knew I'd never get my curtains up if I didn't make them." You call over to him as he sits on your couch. He smiles and watches you pull the pan out of the oven. The edges look crispy, the middle gooey, and you know it's likely he'll eat all of them before the night is over.

Seeing them on the counter, Spencer gets up and rushes into the kitchen, where you have to smack his hand away from the hot pan.

"Spencer you're supposed to be a genius, why are you reaching for a pan that just came out of the oven?" You block his view of the brownies, knowing that he's likely to try again just out of pure childlike stubbornness.

"They smell so good." He peeks around you, getting a glimpse of the brownies behind your back.

"They do, but let them cool a little." You press against his chest, making him walk back a few steps. He gives up and sighs,

"Fine. Where are the curtains? I'll just get those out of the way." He says and looks around. You go and retrieve the curtain rod and the curtains and set them on your couch.

From the couch you watch as he works, appreciating his willingness to help you out. You had wanted these to go up for a while now, but never got around to it. And after receiving the mystery flowers, you wanted to put them up so you feel more secure at home. The window is facing the street and you know it's relatively easy to see inside. It would make you feel better if you could put something between you and the outside.

Spencer's lithe form works effortlessly and you find your eyes wandering across the broadness of his shoulders. In the years you've worked together, you can tell how he's filled out more, and you'd be a liar if you said it didn't suit him. You had first noticed how his button-ups starting becoming tighter around his biceps, and then it was how his pants seemed to hug his thighs.

As he turns around to grab another part, you're quick to avert your eyes. You feel your cheeks start to burn and you realize he may have very well saw you checking him out. Which you shouldn't be, he's your best friend after all.

"There, that should do it." He says after a few more minutes of working.

You stand from the couch and walk to stand beside him, appreciating the way that the curtains look. Not only are they practical, but they make the apartment feel more like home.

"They look great, thank you." You smile up at him, meeting his eyes. He licks his lips and holds your gaze for just a moment longer before he looks back to the kitchen. You know exactly what's on his mind and you sigh, finally giving in to him, just like you always do.

Later, you and Spencer are on the couch, watching tv. You've got your back against the armrest, feet resting in Spencer's lap. He's intensely watching whatever movie he put on while your mind wanders elsewhere.

For some reason, you're just not able to shake off the flowers. Spencer's words echo in your mind, the ones telling you that the flowers stand for adoration. Then you think about how they showed up on the very day the cameras are being replaced. It all seems just a little too convenient for you. And in your line of work, you know better than to believe in coincidences.

"What's up?" Spencer pauses the movie and it snaps you out of your thoughts. Your eyebrows raise and you feign ignorance.

"What do you mean?" You ask him. But you should know better. Spencer knows you like the back of his hand. He frowns and rests a hand on your leg.

"I can tell something's been bothering you tonight." He says and you keep your eyes trained on his hand. Biting the inside of your lip, you know he's got you pinned.

"It's nothing, I'm just being paranoid." You sigh and try to reach for the remote, but Spencer holds it out of your reach. He gives you a pointed look.

"I know it's not nothing, and you're not the paranoid type." He points out and for the moment you despise his eidetic memory.

"It's so stupid. It's just the thing with the flowers. You know Penelope couldn't find footage of who dropped them off because the cameras were being replaced?" You tell him, arching an eyebrow. He takes a moment to think, and then offers a solution, like he usually does.

"You can probably ask the front desk receptionist what she remembers." He says and you nod, knowing it's the only lead you have to work with.

"I'll do that Monday." You say and stand from the couch to close your new curtains, suddenly feeling too exposed.

As you go to close them, you think your eyes are playing tricks on you. You gasp and blink, but whatever you saw is gone. Spencer comes to stand beside you, looking out of the window.

"What is it?" You hear the concern in his voice. He must think you're going crazy. In fact, you think that you're going crazy. His arm finds its way over your shoulders and he tugs the curtains closed.

"I just thought I saw someone out there on the street. But there's nothing there." You say, voice sounding just slightly breathless. Spencer guides you away from the window and sits you back down on the couch. You can see his jaw is clenched and his eyebrows are drawn tightly together.

"Would it make you feel better if I stayed here tonight?" He asks, and you look over at him, breaking your gaze from the window.

"Spence, you don't have to stay here for my sake." You start to feel bad, you don't want him to pity you. He shakes his head.

"I don't mind at all." The sides of his mouth curl up into a smile, the same one that makes you melt.

"Only if you want to." You say, internally grateful he's willing to stay with you tonight.

-----

Unknown POV

I watch from the shadows as she pulls a pan out of the oven. Her apartment is lit up enough for me to be able to catch a glimpse of her beauty, and I watch with wide eyes every moment that's gifted to me. However, my excitement is dampened as I can't find the flowers anywhere. I was hoping she'd bring them home, so that a tiny piece of me could be there with her.

The moment is further tainted as soon as I see him step inside of her home. The same one from the bar. Anger courses through me as I watch them in the kitchen, as I see her move him with a hand on his chest. He shouldn't be able to feel her touch, he doesn't appreciate her the way I do.

Unable to move away I watch as he puts up some curtains for her. Thankfully they look sheer enough that it won't block all of my view. But still, they're more than I want. I've been able to keep an eye on her every night without them, and I hope they don't obscure my view too much.

My hands ball into tight fists as they sit on the couch with each other. He keeps looking over at her every few minutes, but it doesn't look like she notices. She looks distressed, there's a crease between her eyebrows. I should be there to put her worries at ease.

I readjust the binoculars to try and get an even closer look. But when I do, I see that they've moved. They're at the window and I see her look right at me. Quickly, I sidestep into the alleyway, where the darkness should hide me away. Hopefully she didn't see the glint of light off the binocular lenses.

Just before I leave, I see his hand on her shoulder, leading her away from the window. It's like he's purposefully keeping her from me. A smirk finds its way to my face and I'm bolstered with new resolve.

He can try all he wants to keep me from her, but I'm the only one who will have her in the end.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid series #mgg #doctor spencer reid #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfic #bau team #spencer reid smut #spencer x reader

248 notes · View notes

unseededtoast · 28 days

Text

Turtle Doves | Joel Miller

Part Ten

Chapter Directory

Series Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, death, and sexual content.

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted!

We continue on our route, leaving the cursed town behind us.

The shelf scrapes the floor with a loud squeal as we move it out of the way. Thankfully there are no infected around, otherwise this would have drawn all of them right to us. My body still aches from yesterday, and it'll probably continue to get worse today. Once the shelf is out of the way enough for us to squeeze through, we begin back on our route.

The morning sun is just barely peeking up over the horizon, meaning the air is still cool. I know it won't last long, so I savor it now. If my thoughts are correct, we should be passing through the town marked with a star within an hour or two. Something inside me is wary of this location, but the optimistic part of me is hoping that we find something useful.

As usual, our journey begins with more silence. If we're going to be going to Omaha together, I might as well start trying to break the silence to hopefully make him more comfortable talking to me. However, I will give him credit where it's due, he was rather talkative yesterday. Twisting my neck side to side, it cracks and relieves some pressure; and I wish the rest of my bones would do the same.

"Not as young as I used to be." I say as I try to get my back to crack. After trying two more times I give up and just accept that I'm going to be in pain. Joel lets out what sounds like a small laugh.

"You're tellin' me." He turns to face me, a faint trail of humor shown on his features.

"Finding a car would be nice." I say with a huff, thinking about the luxury of even the most run-down car. Joel nods his head,

"I guess you want a night at a five-star hotel too?" His humor catches me off guard, and I laugh at his joke. He looks ahead once more, focusing on our route.

"Hey if the opportunity comes around I wouldn't say no." The two of us fall into a silence once more, but this one feels comfortable and not forced, I don't feel like this one needs to be broken.

As Joel walks I notice how his shoulders aren't as tense as they have been the past few days. He doesn't make an effort to stay several paces ahead of me either. Maybe he's warming up to me after all, or maybe it's just the exhaustion. Tearing my eyes away from his figure, I look ahead and see the faint silhouette of buildings. That must be the place we're looking for.

"Look." I say and point out the buildings. Joel's eyes squint to see what I'm pointing at before he nods.

"Gettin' close. We should try to scope it out before we walk on up." He says, thinking tactfully.

"There are some trees off to the right, we could take cover in those." I spot a small area of trees off the road a ways up. The town is still rural enough to where it's not all concrete, there's still some traces of nature, unlike the QZ. He nods his head and changes our course so that we head for the trees.

Once we reach the woods, we both crouch down to muffle our footsteps. At first glance the town seems to be empty, but my instincts are telling me there's more than meets the eye here. There are several buildings that people could be hiding out in, and we would never know from this vantage point. Joel's eyes stay intensely focused on the town as I try to pick up on anything that suggests life.

After fifteen minutes of silent surveillance, I still can't find anything. Nudging Joel with my arm, I silently ask if he wants to move forward. His face looks apprehensive, but he ends up nodding. We cautiously make our way to the conglomerate of buildings through the woods. Though I'm not sure if anyone is here, going in this way is still our smartest bet.

I get to the edge of the woods first and crouch down again to check the surroundings. It's like a ghost town. But then again, it's still early enough that the occupants of this place might still be sleeping. I can't quite put my finger on it, but something just feels off. My head turns to Joel behind me,

"Something isn't right." My concerns come out as a whisper, and I wonder if he's picking up on the same thing. His eyes are narrowed, his eyebrows knitted together.

"Stay close, we go in quiet." He says and walks in front of me without another word. The curved knife finds its way in my grasp and I follow Joel out into the town, trying to keep my breathing calm and collected. We enter the town from the side, finding an alleyway to sneak down instead of taking the main road.

As we come to the end of the alleyway, my eyes land on a barrel sitting out in the middle of the main road. The black soot on the rim suggests to me that it might be a burn barrel. The windows of the buildings have all been boarded up, blocking our vision of any possible inhabitants. Carefully, Joel rounds the corner of the alley and we're out on the main road, sticking close to the front side of the building.

I see cars lined up at the end of the main street, almost like a makeshift barricade. Confirming my suspicions, I turn around and see a similar barrier on the other side of the main street. There's most definitely someone here. I tug on the back of Joel's shirt and point to the cars, seeing his face darken as he reaches the same conclusion as me.

Before we have time to duck back down the alley, a door opens across the street from us. Three men walk out lazily. My body freezes in place and I watch with wide eyes how the men turn left and go away from us. The men all look very unkempt. Their hair is long and stringy, their clothes tattered and worn. I'm willing to bet they've been out here a while.

Joel grabs my hand and pulls me into the building we're standing in front of. The space is dark, and I can barely see in front of me. But I do see a shadow move behind Joel. As my eyes adjust to the dim light, I swear I see something duck down behind the counter.

My grip on my knife gets tighter, and my elbow nudges Joel again. His head whips over to me, and I just silently point to the counter. From the looks of it, this place must have been some sort of diner. There are tables scattering the floorspace and an old menu board hangs crooked on the wall.

Keeping my footsteps silent is my top priority as we go towards the counter. Joel walks in front of me, his own knife secure in his palm. I try my best to listen for movement on the other side of the counter, but I hear nothing. However, Joel rounds the corner of the counter and I hear scurrying. Peeking around the corner, I see a man in the arms of Joel, being placed into a headlock. Too stunned to move, I watch as Joel chokes the man out until his body goes limp. Joel leaves the body and we continue our way to clear the rest of the building.

As we go deeper into the building I see several sleeping bags on the floor and supplies scattered on shelves. My hands grab what I can hold and shove the supplies into my bag. Luckily, it seems like nobody else is in this building. Unfortunately, that means they're probably all lurking out there somewhere. Once we're in the kitchen area of the diner, I whisper to Joel,

"What's the plan here?" I have a good idea of what the plan probably is, but if we're both certainly on the same page, then there's less of a chance that I make a wrong move.

"We take what we find and kill who we have to." He replies nonchalantly, like this is nothing new for him. And truthfully, this might be a regular occurrence for him. If that's the case, then I should be thankful he's here with me, and not against me. I nod my head and we continue moving.

Joel opens the back door to the diner so that we're in a back alley, not the main road. There's a door slamming across the street, followed by several voices. They all sound like men to me. I swallow my nerves and focus on the task at hand; surviving. I follow Joel closely as we move into another building, seeming to be some sort of old hobby store.

"Yeah man, he told me he was going on patrol today. Fucker keeps getting all the good shit." A voice loudly speaks as the front door opens. Joel ducks behind a shelf and I'm forced to take cover behind a display case.

"Would be a damn shame if he came back and all his shit was gone." Another gruff voice speaks. They're getting closer to us. The metal of the knife's hilt digs into my palm and I prepare myself for what has to happen. My eyes stay trained on Joel, waiting for his signal to move since he has the better vantage point.

Heavy footsteps fall just in front of the display case I'm behind, and a hand slams on the top of it, making me jump. The man's hand is large, dirty, and thicky callused.

"You know there would be hell to pay. Crazy bastard would kill us all to find his stuff and you know it." My breathing is shallow. Joel slowly motions for my to stay calm and I nod, showing him that I'm not going to do anything rash. He turns around and throws something, causing a clashing in the front of the store.

"The hell?" One of the men say, but only one of them moves to check it out. The hand on the display case stays put.

"What is it?" The man in front of me asks, his hand finally moving off the case.

There's no reply, they must be skeptical of something. Only the soft sound of footsteps can be heard, but I can't really tell where they're at. My breath catches in my throat as I see a leather boot step in front of me. Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I make eye contact with the man, and he looks startled.

"There's a woman over here!" He yells out as I lunge forward with my knife. I catch the man's abdomen with the blade's curve and he cries out in pain, doubling over. My hand goes back to wind up another strike, but the injured man stands to his full height and grabs my arm. Thinking quickly, I drop the knife from my incapacitated hand and catch it with my free one, and I waste no time in slashing the man's arm, cutting it wide open with the sharp edge.

The man puts up a fight, but he's losing too much blood too quickly, and soon he falls over. There will be more coming after his tip off, and so I move towards Joel, who took down the second man without any issue. The two of us go to leave through the back of the hobby store, the way we came in, but there's something wrong with the door's lock and it won't budge.

"Shit." Joel grumbles as he tries to force the door open, but to no avail. In the front part of the store, the door opens and there's several people that come rushing in. They're all shouting incoherently and causing chaos in the small space. Joel and I split away once more, trying to hide the best we can.

Luckily I had reloaded my gun just outside of Boston, the night Joel found his stash in the store. So I know I have bullets if I need them. However, if I can use stealth to my advantage, I'm going to do that over wasting bullets on live people.

I try to tuck my body closely underneath the clerk's counter, but my bag is just a little too bulky for me to be able to fit all the way in. The approaching men round the corner and one of them spots me right off the bat. Two men come at me and before I can reach for my gun, they're on me.

Wildly, I slash my knife back and forth, trying to fend them off. They keep backing off quickly to dodge the blade, but one of them moves too fast. He tackles me to the ground, my knife falls from my hand. I reach for my gun in a last ditch effort, but my hands are pinned above me. Across the store I hear gunshots ring out and I can only hope they're Joel's.

I use my legs to try to throw the man off of me, but he's too big. His hips hold my torso down and he's got a sick grin on his face.

"Look what we got here boys!" He announces as I struggle to get free from him. I thrash and twist my body in any way that I can, but it's no use. Soon, another man's face hovers over top of me, his face full of curiosity and perverted thoughts. He licks his lips and smiles before he speaks to my captor.

"Oh she's a pretty one too. Whole team can have fun with her for weeks." He claps my captor on the back and my body is frozen to the ground, no longer able to put up a fight. Hot tears stream from my eyes and the man standing above me crouches down, his finger wiping the tears. Instinctually, my body flinches away from his touch.

"Awe don't cry now hun, we're gonna take care of you." He says sickly sweet before moving out of my field of vision. The gunshots on the other end of the store still ring out, and I hear what I think is a body hitting the floor. My chest heaves up and down in a panic as I feel someone's hands on my hips.

"She's armed to the teeth, look at all this." I feel my hunting knife being taken out of its holster and my gun is tossed from my thigh. My captor chuckles and looks down at me, his black eyes raking over my body while the other man disarms me. If he didn't have to keep my hands pinned to the ground, I fear to imagine what he'd be doing to me.

With no more weapons on me, the hands drift to the button of my jeans to undo it. I try to thrash and kick and fight back to get them off of me, but I think it only makes them more excited. My captor laughs as I sob, the man behind him trying to tug my jeans down.

Suddenly, the hands are gone from my hips and a shot rings in my ears. My captor whips around and I see a bullet go right between his eyes. The man's full body weight falls on top of me, making it even more difficult to breathe. Luckily, the weight is moved off of me and I go to hit whoever is coming for me next.

My swinging fists are caught and I'm looking into familiar brown eyes. It takes a moment to register that it's Joel looking back at me. His eyes are wide and there's blood splattered on his face.

"They're gone, they're gone. It's okay." His voice tries to soothe me but I can't stop the sobs that come through me. He lets go of my fists and I lay on the ground, staring at the ceiling as if my body had become permanently bonded to the linoleum underneath me.

After a few fleeting moments, my breathing has started to level out, though the tears continue to fall. I muster up all the strength I have and sit myself up, quickly redoing the button of my jeans with trembling fingers. My dirty hand wipes my nose and I gather my weapons, putting them all in the correct places.

Without another word I stand to my feet and stumble out of the store. I hear Joel behind me as I turn the corner of the store and get sick in the alleyway. My hands are on my knees to support me as my body ejects whatever was in my stomach. Ragged breaths shake me and I close my eyes, trying to calm myself.

When I find it within myself to open my eyes, I turn around and see Joel standing away from me, a concerned look on his face. I readjust the straps of my backpack and wipe my mouth on my shirt.

Though I would love nothing more than to get out of here, I still have to search these buildings and the corpses for anything useful.

I go building by building and search all that I can. Some buildings have canned goods, others are full of old shoes, old clothes, and other old items. It looks like they used these buildings for anything and everything, there's no organization to this chaos.

As I walk to the last building, I see Joel going through the corpses in the store we were just ambushed in. He's checking their pockets and taking their ammo. With quiet gratitude, I focus back on clearing this building so we can get out of here.

I open all the drawers and go through the shelves, only to find a deck of playing cards. There's nothing useful here. My hands grip the edge of the counter and I close my eyes in an attempt to keep my composure. If we went through all of that for nothing, there will be no words to describe my anger.

Joel comes back out to the street and I meet up with him, still sniffling. He offers me a small smile and tilts his head,

"Ready to get out of here?" He asks and I nod.

We continue on our route, leaving the cursed town behind us. The day is still young, so we have the rest of daylight to travel. Hopefully we get as far away from here as possible. My eyes stay trained on the road below me, and I count my steps to keep my mind occupied on anything except what just happened in that town. For once I'm thankful for Joel's silent nature.

#joel miller #joel miller hbo #joel miller tlou #joel miller the last of us #pedro pascal #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #tlou fanfic #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfic #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller series

17 notes · View notes