Proposal 101
Rating: 17+
Character Pairing: Spencer Reid/Reader
Status: Completed
Summary: Marriage is not just a piece of paper, an institution, or a ceremony. It's a promise in sickness and in health, forever and ever. You always told yourself - If it isn't him, it isn't right.
Character Pairing: Spencer Reid/Reader
Status: Completed
Summary: Marriage is not just a piece of paper, an institution, or a ceremony. It's a promise in sickness and in health, forever and ever. You always told yourself - If it isn't him, it isn't right.
1
“Did you know that the practice of giving or exchanging engagement rings began in 1477 when Roman Emperor, Maximilian I, gave Mary Burgandy a diamond ring as an engagement present? And the veil, which dates back to ancient Rome—By the way, will you marry me? I mean, would you want to?”
2
"[your name]," Spencer greeted, licking his lips nervously. He was avoiding your eyes and his hands were shaking from some kind of excitement. "What's that?"
"What?" Your mood was lifted after a bit, realizing that your boyfriend had stayed after to spend time with you, despite that he was also waiting for a ride home.
"Behind your ear," he responded quickly, touching the back of your own ear to demonstrate his point. You reached behind your ear to bump into cold metal. With a light poke, it fell into your hand.
A ring. Embedded with diamonds. Always.
You shifted your gaze back to your boyfriend, who was still licking his lips nervously and waiting for your reaction. When a smile broke out on your face, he started, with newfound confidence, "I wonder to whom that might belong. It seems to fit you perfectly. Finders keepers, perhaps?"
"What?" Your mood was lifted after a bit, realizing that your boyfriend had stayed after to spend time with you, despite that he was also waiting for a ride home.
"Behind your ear," he responded quickly, touching the back of your own ear to demonstrate his point. You reached behind your ear to bump into cold metal. With a light poke, it fell into your hand.
A ring. Embedded with diamonds. Always.
You shifted your gaze back to your boyfriend, who was still licking his lips nervously and waiting for your reaction. When a smile broke out on your face, he started, with newfound confidence, "I wonder to whom that might belong. It seems to fit you perfectly. Finders keepers, perhaps?"
3
"... I have to read this?" you deadpanned, looking from the voluminous book with light uneasiness to your nineteen-year-old college tutor. "Are you serious, Spencer?"
The book was actually a manual bounded by a big binder clip. You had challenged him at last week to prove that marriage has a dramatic effect on a person’s genetics. This week, he came back to you, carrying proudly his book. He shrugged at your comment, responding nonchalantly, "It's actually quite scarce of the details since you said you would write a response just as soon and I'm quite interested in seeing what your counter to my thesis would be. The experimental data, I must warn you, is very convincing. I do believe I have this one in the bag, [your name]."
A smirk appeared on your face at his implications. “Oh really, we’ll see about that, Spencer Reid. Do expect a response on your desk on Monday.”
Four days later, you were still in your study. Spencer had called every now and then to make sure you were alive since you didn’t appear in class after announcing that you would be concentrating on the response. Despite your determination, your body could not stand it. Eyes drooping, head dropping, yawn-inducing headaches, and everything that could possibly indicate sleepiness were happening to you. You were nearing the conclusion of the thesis, after having analyzed his experimental data for the validity of his processed data (how in the world could he have accumulated a percent error from a non-existent standard value?) when you came across the following:
“An additional experiment that I believe will support my hypothesis that the genetic code of an individual is significantly affected by marriage is the following: When [your name] finishes reading this paper, she will find out that in the span of three years, I will ask her to marry me. I have attained a map of her genetic code via secret source and after a number of years of marriage; I will have attained another map of her genetic code. Using these two codes, I will compare them and see how they have changed and the origin.”
The book was actually a manual bounded by a big binder clip. You had challenged him at last week to prove that marriage has a dramatic effect on a person’s genetics. This week, he came back to you, carrying proudly his book. He shrugged at your comment, responding nonchalantly, "It's actually quite scarce of the details since you said you would write a response just as soon and I'm quite interested in seeing what your counter to my thesis would be. The experimental data, I must warn you, is very convincing. I do believe I have this one in the bag, [your name]."
A smirk appeared on your face at his implications. “Oh really, we’ll see about that, Spencer Reid. Do expect a response on your desk on Monday.”
Four days later, you were still in your study. Spencer had called every now and then to make sure you were alive since you didn’t appear in class after announcing that you would be concentrating on the response. Despite your determination, your body could not stand it. Eyes drooping, head dropping, yawn-inducing headaches, and everything that could possibly indicate sleepiness were happening to you. You were nearing the conclusion of the thesis, after having analyzed his experimental data for the validity of his processed data (how in the world could he have accumulated a percent error from a non-existent standard value?) when you came across the following:
“An additional experiment that I believe will support my hypothesis that the genetic code of an individual is significantly affected by marriage is the following: When [your name] finishes reading this paper, she will find out that in the span of three years, I will ask her to marry me. I have attained a map of her genetic code via secret source and after a number of years of marriage; I will have attained another map of her genetic code. Using these two codes, I will compare them and see how they have changed and the origin.”
4
He sat awkwardly in front of the screen, trying desperately to find the appropriate words for the situation. You were crying your eyes out and he didn’t know what to do to make you stop. As he was sending his message to his mother, you desperately wanted to tell him to shove it and tell her when he got out alive, but all you could do was stand there and wait your turn. The moment you got in front of the screen, you burst out in tears. He was looking incredibly pale and coughing his lungs out every other second. You wanted to believe that the screen was trying to trick you, but the ill look in his eyes told you otherwise.
“[your name], I’ll—“ Cough, “be fine.” Cough. Cough.
“Damnit, Spencer,” you sobbed, pressing your hand against the screen as an attempt to close the distance, “Is this how you cancel our dates? By going into rooms filled with anthrax and killing yourself so you can stand me up?”
He coughed again in the midst of his protest. His eyes were reddening now. When he finished, Spencer reached into his pocket, slowly pulling out a velvet box. “Please don’t say that. I would never leave you like that. I promise you that next time I see you, I will personally put this ring on your finger. When I do, I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you…”
You choked back another sob. “I love you, Spencer Reid. Don’t you dare leave me like that…”
“I won’t. I promise. I love you too.” You closed your eyes before he closed the camera, trying not to think of how much of what he said sounded like goodbye.
“[your name], I’ll—“ Cough, “be fine.” Cough. Cough.
“Damnit, Spencer,” you sobbed, pressing your hand against the screen as an attempt to close the distance, “Is this how you cancel our dates? By going into rooms filled with anthrax and killing yourself so you can stand me up?”
He coughed again in the midst of his protest. His eyes were reddening now. When he finished, Spencer reached into his pocket, slowly pulling out a velvet box. “Please don’t say that. I would never leave you like that. I promise you that next time I see you, I will personally put this ring on your finger. When I do, I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you…”
You choked back another sob. “I love you, Spencer Reid. Don’t you dare leave me like that…”
“I won’t. I promise. I love you too.” You closed your eyes before he closed the camera, trying not to think of how much of what he said sounded like goodbye.
5
Today would be the day, you decided. If he wasn’t going to do it, then it looked like you were going to have to step up to the plate, whether he liked it or not. Somebody had to wear the pants in this relationship. You greeted Spencer with the usual good morning kiss upon entering the office and as always, he followed you into the kitchen where he would share the gawd awful amount of coffee you would brew every morning.
“Anything new today?” you asked, shooting a glance at the book he was currently flipping through. You rolled your eyes inwardly, wondering if the guy could really read at 20,000 words per minute. At the rate he was turning the page, there was no way he could have even glanced at all of the words.
“Hotch wants us in for briefing in thirty,” he responded absentmindedly.
You cleared your throat quickly, preparing to put your plan into action. “You want an extra spoon today, Spencer?”
“Sure,” he replied cheerfully, as though the thought of more sugar would benefit his health. That was another thing you wondered about your boyfriend too. Despite dating for almost three years now, you’ve yet to figure out where exactly that black hole was located in his body. Everything he ate seemed to disappear and he was still the adorable little pipe cleaner you loved to envy. Oh how you love your boyfriend.
“Okay, all done,” you stated, handing him his extra sugary cup of coffee as you took your own pitch black one. You watched intently as he replaced the book on the table and held the cup up to his lips. Spencer, on the other, didn’t seem to notice your intense stare. When the cup tilted higher and higher, you started counting down from ten until--
“OH GAWD!” he gasped, throwing the cup down immediately so he could regurgitate something that almost lodged itself into his throat. He stared at the item in his hand, speechless at the sparkle of the single diamond embedded in front of the words “Yours Truly.”
You had been afraid that he would simply drink it up and you’d have to wait until god-knows-when for him to get it out again because you didn’t know what the hell you were thinking when you listened to Garcia about this surprising proposal advice. The shocked expression still remained on Spencer’s face, though you couldn’t tell whether or not he was pissed at what you did or just shocked in a good way that you took the initiative, but all you could say was “Well?”
“Anything new today?” you asked, shooting a glance at the book he was currently flipping through. You rolled your eyes inwardly, wondering if the guy could really read at 20,000 words per minute. At the rate he was turning the page, there was no way he could have even glanced at all of the words.
“Hotch wants us in for briefing in thirty,” he responded absentmindedly.
You cleared your throat quickly, preparing to put your plan into action. “You want an extra spoon today, Spencer?”
“Sure,” he replied cheerfully, as though the thought of more sugar would benefit his health. That was another thing you wondered about your boyfriend too. Despite dating for almost three years now, you’ve yet to figure out where exactly that black hole was located in his body. Everything he ate seemed to disappear and he was still the adorable little pipe cleaner you loved to envy. Oh how you love your boyfriend.
“Okay, all done,” you stated, handing him his extra sugary cup of coffee as you took your own pitch black one. You watched intently as he replaced the book on the table and held the cup up to his lips. Spencer, on the other, didn’t seem to notice your intense stare. When the cup tilted higher and higher, you started counting down from ten until--
“OH GAWD!” he gasped, throwing the cup down immediately so he could regurgitate something that almost lodged itself into his throat. He stared at the item in his hand, speechless at the sparkle of the single diamond embedded in front of the words “Yours Truly.”
You had been afraid that he would simply drink it up and you’d have to wait until god-knows-when for him to get it out again because you didn’t know what the hell you were thinking when you listened to Garcia about this surprising proposal advice. The shocked expression still remained on Spencer’s face, though you couldn’t tell whether or not he was pissed at what you did or just shocked in a good way that you took the initiative, but all you could say was “Well?”
6
In. Out. He released a shaky breath. He had practiced this a million times already, five hundred and six—to be exact. It should work this time. It will work this time. The little thing he held in his hand whimpered a bit at the pressure he was starting to exert on it due to nervousness. Spencer hoped that you didn’t fall asleep. You sounded suspiciously sleepy on the phone and when he asked, you simply told him to get his ass over to your apartment so you two could spend some time together.
“Okay, Choco girl, tonight’s your night,” he muttered into the thing’s ear. “Go get her.”
Without another word, he released it and ran back to his designated hiding place, a meager bush which would allow him to camouflage in the dark and still see what was going on. It stood there for a few minutes, sniffing the ground it was standing on. Spencer waved furiously in the direction of your apartment door, trying to catch its attention without making you open your door. It turned around to stare at him and whimpered before coming to him, hopping onto his lap, and showering him with kisses.
“Look, Choco, I know you want to spend some time together, but tonight, it’s me and [your name]. If you want any more speck of attention from me, you will go marching back to that door and scratch it until she opens the door,” he declared. Without another word, the puppy scampered back to your apartment door where it stood up and scratched the door.
Soon enough, the door pulled open and out you came, staring around until you caught sight of the black furry thing running into your house. “Choco, is that you? Where’s your daddy, girl?” Spencer watched as you kneeled down, and unconsciously, he mimicked the actions of your hand as you petted her on the head. When she leapt onto your lap, you felt something cold against your skin. “What’s this you got there, Choco?”
Spencer’s heart was pounding rapidly against his chest as you started to pull on the ring. He waited and waited and waited until he realized that the ring must have been caught on Choco’s fur. He groaned inwardly, remembering that he had done so earlier that day because it kept on moving around and she would be trying to bite it because it was so shiny. Oh well, now or never, Spencer decided. You muttered sympathetically to the poor whining puppy, “I’m sorry girl; something’s stuck under here… Hold on, I think I can—“
“WILLYOUMARRYME, [YOUR NAME]?”
“Okay, Choco girl, tonight’s your night,” he muttered into the thing’s ear. “Go get her.”
Without another word, he released it and ran back to his designated hiding place, a meager bush which would allow him to camouflage in the dark and still see what was going on. It stood there for a few minutes, sniffing the ground it was standing on. Spencer waved furiously in the direction of your apartment door, trying to catch its attention without making you open your door. It turned around to stare at him and whimpered before coming to him, hopping onto his lap, and showering him with kisses.
“Look, Choco, I know you want to spend some time together, but tonight, it’s me and [your name]. If you want any more speck of attention from me, you will go marching back to that door and scratch it until she opens the door,” he declared. Without another word, the puppy scampered back to your apartment door where it stood up and scratched the door.
Soon enough, the door pulled open and out you came, staring around until you caught sight of the black furry thing running into your house. “Choco, is that you? Where’s your daddy, girl?” Spencer watched as you kneeled down, and unconsciously, he mimicked the actions of your hand as you petted her on the head. When she leapt onto your lap, you felt something cold against your skin. “What’s this you got there, Choco?”
Spencer’s heart was pounding rapidly against his chest as you started to pull on the ring. He waited and waited and waited until he realized that the ring must have been caught on Choco’s fur. He groaned inwardly, remembering that he had done so earlier that day because it kept on moving around and she would be trying to bite it because it was so shiny. Oh well, now or never, Spencer decided. You muttered sympathetically to the poor whining puppy, “I’m sorry girl; something’s stuck under here… Hold on, I think I can—“
“WILLYOUMARRYME, [YOUR NAME]?”
7
“I-I-I don’t know what to say…”
You frowned and deadpanned, “That’s it? How about saying yes?”
“Well, I’d love to, but I was planning to propose to you first.” He pulled out a smaller ring from his wallet.
“Oh yea? And when was that going to be?” You rolled your eyes.
“Well, for instance… right now. I was going to ask you while we’re alone so that Morgan wouldn’t tell the entire team about it until you said yes, because… well, you know, sometimes you’re a little—“
“A little what?” Exasperation seeped through your voice.
“Li-like right now!” Spencer licked his lips nervously, trying to escape the penetrating gaze of your eyes.
“Spencer Reid, you—“ Not another word escape your mouth when Spencer crushed his lips to yours, effectively silencing you for a good while so you two could battle tongues before you both pulled away from lack of air. Even so, you were able to manage, “Wow.”
“Yes, I will marry you… IF you take my ring too,” he muttered, eyes fastened on your lips until he latched his lips to yours once more.
When you two finally pulled away again, you both failed to notice the almost inaudible footsteps belonging to Penelope Garcia who was awkwardly leaving the room. She hardly left her room… and of all times… A cry of joy escaped your lips as you wrapped your arm around his neck and his around your waist. When you pulled away again for the third time, you finally said, “Looks like you got yourself a deal, Dr. Reid.”
You frowned and deadpanned, “That’s it? How about saying yes?”
“Well, I’d love to, but I was planning to propose to you first.” He pulled out a smaller ring from his wallet.
“Oh yea? And when was that going to be?” You rolled your eyes.
“Well, for instance… right now. I was going to ask you while we’re alone so that Morgan wouldn’t tell the entire team about it until you said yes, because… well, you know, sometimes you’re a little—“
“A little what?” Exasperation seeped through your voice.
“Li-like right now!” Spencer licked his lips nervously, trying to escape the penetrating gaze of your eyes.
“Spencer Reid, you—“ Not another word escape your mouth when Spencer crushed his lips to yours, effectively silencing you for a good while so you two could battle tongues before you both pulled away from lack of air. Even so, you were able to manage, “Wow.”
“Yes, I will marry you… IF you take my ring too,” he muttered, eyes fastened on your lips until he latched his lips to yours once more.
When you two finally pulled away again, you both failed to notice the almost inaudible footsteps belonging to Penelope Garcia who was awkwardly leaving the room. She hardly left her room… and of all times… A cry of joy escaped your lips as you wrapped your arm around his neck and his around your waist. When you pulled away again for the third time, you finally said, “Looks like you got yourself a deal, Dr. Reid.”
8
Warmth. One that was slowly returning from the threatening realm called death. Spencer had been sitting there for two days with a look of utmost agony upon his face. His gaze was currently fixed upon your slumbering expression, praying that a smile would break out on your face as you wake up. Any day now, the doc said. You had narrowly escaped your critical condition without dying because Spencer had pushed you out of the bullet’s path. He, too, had been injured, though a sprained ankle was nothing compared to a bullet a few inches away from the heart.
He laid his head down beside your hand, resting his cheeks against the coolness of your skin. “You should get some sleep, Spencer.” He bolted up, eyes fixed on your expression only to see it unmoved. A hand rested on his back and when he turned around, JJ repeated softly, “[your name] wouldn’t want to wake up seeing you exhausted.”
“I’ll take a nap in a bit,” he smiled reassuringly, or tried to, anyway. When she left, he returned his attention to you, recalling the events that had happened a few days earlier. If only he had been quicker. If only he had saved you.
When JJ returned to the room with a bottle of water, her heart skipped at the sight. It was not out of any intimate affection for either of the two people sleeping on the bed, as Spencer had somehow found his way onto your bed and cradled you against his chest, but out of relief that the young doctor had finally fallen asleep. She decided to sleep, realizing that even if she tried to wake him up, Spencer wouldn’t leave your side anyways. As she left the room, she could not help but smile at the memory of glinting diamonds around your finger that had not been there two days earlier.
He laid his head down beside your hand, resting his cheeks against the coolness of your skin. “You should get some sleep, Spencer.” He bolted up, eyes fixed on your expression only to see it unmoved. A hand rested on his back and when he turned around, JJ repeated softly, “[your name] wouldn’t want to wake up seeing you exhausted.”
“I’ll take a nap in a bit,” he smiled reassuringly, or tried to, anyway. When she left, he returned his attention to you, recalling the events that had happened a few days earlier. If only he had been quicker. If only he had saved you.
When JJ returned to the room with a bottle of water, her heart skipped at the sight. It was not out of any intimate affection for either of the two people sleeping on the bed, as Spencer had somehow found his way onto your bed and cradled you against his chest, but out of relief that the young doctor had finally fallen asleep. She decided to sleep, realizing that even if she tried to wake him up, Spencer wouldn’t leave your side anyways. As she left the room, she could not help but smile at the memory of glinting diamonds around your finger that had not been there two days earlier.
9
You sighed in relief when your head hit the pillow, followed by the sound of cloths rustling when Spencer’s head did the same. You turned over to smile at him, blinking groggily as sleep fought to overtake you. Your boyfriend returned the gesture, closing the distance between you two to plant a kiss on your forehead. He wouldn’t kiss you again, because if he did, you two would be at it again, probably until morning when you would be too tired to go to work. Hotch would have both of your asses if you both decided to take a sick day. One missing genius is already a problem, two would be highly inconvenient.
“We should get to sleep, Dr. Reid,” you mumbled when he started to nibble on your ear with another one of his grins. You couldn’t hide the smile creeping onto your face at his efforts to wake you up again because it was actually working. “Aw, you’re not playing fair, Dr. Reid.”
“I love it when you call me Dr. Reid,” he muttered against your bare skin. “…Mrs. Reid.” Your eyes snapped open to meet his. A smile danced on his lips as he whispered, “If you’ll have me.”
You couldn’t trust yourself to say the right words—knowing you, it would probably end up in some rant about the history of marriage or something. So instead of saying yes, you could only nod furiously and cry against his shoulder as he slid the cold ring onto your finger.
“We should get to sleep, Dr. Reid,” you mumbled when he started to nibble on your ear with another one of his grins. You couldn’t hide the smile creeping onto your face at his efforts to wake you up again because it was actually working. “Aw, you’re not playing fair, Dr. Reid.”
“I love it when you call me Dr. Reid,” he muttered against your bare skin. “…Mrs. Reid.” Your eyes snapped open to meet his. A smile danced on his lips as he whispered, “If you’ll have me.”
You couldn’t trust yourself to say the right words—knowing you, it would probably end up in some rant about the history of marriage or something. So instead of saying yes, you could only nod furiously and cry against his shoulder as he slid the cold ring onto your finger.
10
“You know she has been carrying that around for a while now, right?” Morgan remarked with a smirk as the young genius walked over to Prentiss’s desk to get the files.
“Hm?” Spencer returned pleasantly, completely oblivious to what was being referenced. Morgan dropped his smirk immediately at the genuine look of curiosity on Spencer’s face. At the sight of the older man’s frown, Spencer immediately became worried, glancing over to you who was reading a rather thick book that he had lent you. As you turned another page, he leaned closer to the chief of unit and whispered back, “Carrying what?”
“Reid, when was the last time you got laid?” Morgan deadpanned.
Spencer stood up straight, licking his lips nervously and looking rather flustered and pink. “I-I-I don’t f-feel com-comfortable sharing t-that. A-and I don’t u-u-understand why this is r-relevant.” It HAS been a while ever since that one time when you said you wanted to try something new…
“I bet it’s virtually non-existent now,” he remarked and continued, “Look, man. When women withhold something like that from you, they want something. You gotta be sharp and pick up the hints.”
“Perhaps she wants a surprise?” Spencer suggested. He really had no clue that there was something going on.
“Perhaps,” Morgan nodded, “Now let’s take it a little farther… What kind of surprise?”
“A… date?” The younger man furrowed his eyebrows when Morgan shook his head, “Maybe a romantic night…?”
“Almost there, man,” he shook his head. “Look… at her bookmark.”
Dangling from your paper bookmark was the dull round metal, glittering slightly whenever you moved it to turn the page. Spencer squinted to get a closer look, and before he knew it, Morgan pulled on his collar—effectlyive knocking the breath out of him. “Dude, be careful, she’s looking.”
“But she—“ Spencer paused to fall into some form of deep thoughts and finally when the idea hit him, pink dusted his cheeks. “Wait, does she want to—to me? Really?”
Morgan nodded slowly, a smile appearing on his face. “You’re getting there man, now you gotta take the next step.”
“But I-I-I’m not ready!” he blushed, “I’m not ready at all, how can I—“ Spencer licked his lips profusely, blinking rapidly and furrowing his eyebrows. “Morgan, my gawd, I don’t… If I don’t—If I—She’ll leave me and I—“
“Reid, calm down, man.” Morgan pushed the young genius down on the chair. “Calm down. Here’s what you’re going to do. First, you get together with her alone and then you’ll ask her. Got it? From there, it’ll be smooth sailing because she’ll take care of everything, okay?”
Spencer swallowed, desperate for the gears inside of his head to start turning. He graduated from high school at the age of 12 and earned 3 PhD’s by the age of 24 and yet at the thought of a simple question, he was clueless as to how he would find the appropriate words—much less ask them. No doubt he would simply end up a babbling fool and you’d leave him because of his incompetence. Despite all the pep talk that the older man was feeding him, Spencer wished that he hadn’t even stopped by Prentiss’s desk. Why couldn’t he just sit there with his girlfriend and watch her read?
Finally he stood up and released a breath, holding onto the table for support. His legs were shaking as though he was a newly born. Gawd, KIDS. What if you wanted kids?! It wasn’t as though Spencer hated kids—he enjoyed the thoughts of mini geniuses running around the house in search of their father to battle wits with him—he just wasn’t sure what he’d do with them the moment they were born and how he’d take care of them and considering his past… When Morgan slapped him on the back, all thoughts flew out the window as he trotted quickly over to you.
“Need anything?” You raised an eyebrow at his clenching knuckles. His feet were shifting constantly and his eyes were darting in every direction but your own. “Are you okay?”
Alright, now or never. The young genius released a long-held breath and finally asked in the most politest way, “Hey, [your name], you got a minute?”
“Hm?” Spencer returned pleasantly, completely oblivious to what was being referenced. Morgan dropped his smirk immediately at the genuine look of curiosity on Spencer’s face. At the sight of the older man’s frown, Spencer immediately became worried, glancing over to you who was reading a rather thick book that he had lent you. As you turned another page, he leaned closer to the chief of unit and whispered back, “Carrying what?”
“Reid, when was the last time you got laid?” Morgan deadpanned.
Spencer stood up straight, licking his lips nervously and looking rather flustered and pink. “I-I-I don’t f-feel com-comfortable sharing t-that. A-and I don’t u-u-understand why this is r-relevant.” It HAS been a while ever since that one time when you said you wanted to try something new…
“I bet it’s virtually non-existent now,” he remarked and continued, “Look, man. When women withhold something like that from you, they want something. You gotta be sharp and pick up the hints.”
“Perhaps she wants a surprise?” Spencer suggested. He really had no clue that there was something going on.
“Perhaps,” Morgan nodded, “Now let’s take it a little farther… What kind of surprise?”
“A… date?” The younger man furrowed his eyebrows when Morgan shook his head, “Maybe a romantic night…?”
“Almost there, man,” he shook his head. “Look… at her bookmark.”
Dangling from your paper bookmark was the dull round metal, glittering slightly whenever you moved it to turn the page. Spencer squinted to get a closer look, and before he knew it, Morgan pulled on his collar—effectlyive knocking the breath out of him. “Dude, be careful, she’s looking.”
“But she—“ Spencer paused to fall into some form of deep thoughts and finally when the idea hit him, pink dusted his cheeks. “Wait, does she want to—to me? Really?”
Morgan nodded slowly, a smile appearing on his face. “You’re getting there man, now you gotta take the next step.”
“But I-I-I’m not ready!” he blushed, “I’m not ready at all, how can I—“ Spencer licked his lips profusely, blinking rapidly and furrowing his eyebrows. “Morgan, my gawd, I don’t… If I don’t—If I—She’ll leave me and I—“
“Reid, calm down, man.” Morgan pushed the young genius down on the chair. “Calm down. Here’s what you’re going to do. First, you get together with her alone and then you’ll ask her. Got it? From there, it’ll be smooth sailing because she’ll take care of everything, okay?”
Spencer swallowed, desperate for the gears inside of his head to start turning. He graduated from high school at the age of 12 and earned 3 PhD’s by the age of 24 and yet at the thought of a simple question, he was clueless as to how he would find the appropriate words—much less ask them. No doubt he would simply end up a babbling fool and you’d leave him because of his incompetence. Despite all the pep talk that the older man was feeding him, Spencer wished that he hadn’t even stopped by Prentiss’s desk. Why couldn’t he just sit there with his girlfriend and watch her read?
Finally he stood up and released a breath, holding onto the table for support. His legs were shaking as though he was a newly born. Gawd, KIDS. What if you wanted kids?! It wasn’t as though Spencer hated kids—he enjoyed the thoughts of mini geniuses running around the house in search of their father to battle wits with him—he just wasn’t sure what he’d do with them the moment they were born and how he’d take care of them and considering his past… When Morgan slapped him on the back, all thoughts flew out the window as he trotted quickly over to you.
“Need anything?” You raised an eyebrow at his clenching knuckles. His feet were shifting constantly and his eyes were darting in every direction but your own. “Are you okay?”
Alright, now or never. The young genius released a long-held breath and finally asked in the most politest way, “Hey, [your name], you got a minute?”
11
“[your name], you kind of have to pay attention for this information to be useful on your exam.” You turned your attention back to the instructor at your desk and smiled. Without another word, Spencer continued, “Alright. So the novel, Beloved, written by Toni Morrison is more than just a story about slavery and a fictional account of said subject. It is much more than that. Psychologically…”
You stopped listening a long time ago. Ever since he said what he said last week, you hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything. Even if it were April Fools’ Day, it was definitely a mean prank to pull, especially on his part. You didn’t think that the young genius had it in him, the mean bone and all. Spencer didn’t seem to have any remorse whatsoever to the false hope that he had invoked.
“It’d be really nice if someone could be the best man for my wedding with [your name],” Spencer muttered with faux frustration in his tone. Your head whipped around in mid-conversation with JJ. Really? A wedding? When was this planned without your knowing? You tended to be very meticulous with various plans in your life, and marriage would be one of those top priorities. You smiled nervously, trying to act unsurprised by the news. The sound of Morgan’s enthusiastic volunteering soon drew many congratulatory responses from the team. You would have joined them if Spencer hadn’t promptly shouted, “April Fools!”
“And thus we can conclude that the characters must face their past in order to have a possible future, or simply, to survive. [your name], have you heard a single thing I’ve said?” You tried your best to appear as though you’ve been hanging onto every word, but such was so difficult. He took a seat next to you, encircling your shoulder in an embrace while asking, “Is everything okay? You’ve been out of it lately…”
“I’m fine.” You failed to smile reassuringly, drawing another look of concern from your boyfriend’s face.
“Well, ever since you came to the office that day, you’ve become less attentive or rather, frequently lost in thought… is this about the prank?” When you didn’t answer, he continued, “I do pay attention, you know.”
“Yes, I know, boyfriend-of-the-year.” You rolled your eyes, “That was a mean joke, you know? Got my hopes up for nothing.”
He blinked, looking somewhat confused, “I wouldn’t say it was all for nothing…”
“You just said it when you’ve never even asked—“
“Yes I did, on my paper. Didn’t you read the conclusion?”
You stopped listening a long time ago. Ever since he said what he said last week, you hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything. Even if it were April Fools’ Day, it was definitely a mean prank to pull, especially on his part. You didn’t think that the young genius had it in him, the mean bone and all. Spencer didn’t seem to have any remorse whatsoever to the false hope that he had invoked.
“It’d be really nice if someone could be the best man for my wedding with [your name],” Spencer muttered with faux frustration in his tone. Your head whipped around in mid-conversation with JJ. Really? A wedding? When was this planned without your knowing? You tended to be very meticulous with various plans in your life, and marriage would be one of those top priorities. You smiled nervously, trying to act unsurprised by the news. The sound of Morgan’s enthusiastic volunteering soon drew many congratulatory responses from the team. You would have joined them if Spencer hadn’t promptly shouted, “April Fools!”
“And thus we can conclude that the characters must face their past in order to have a possible future, or simply, to survive. [your name], have you heard a single thing I’ve said?” You tried your best to appear as though you’ve been hanging onto every word, but such was so difficult. He took a seat next to you, encircling your shoulder in an embrace while asking, “Is everything okay? You’ve been out of it lately…”
“I’m fine.” You failed to smile reassuringly, drawing another look of concern from your boyfriend’s face.
“Well, ever since you came to the office that day, you’ve become less attentive or rather, frequently lost in thought… is this about the prank?” When you didn’t answer, he continued, “I do pay attention, you know.”
“Yes, I know, boyfriend-of-the-year.” You rolled your eyes, “That was a mean joke, you know? Got my hopes up for nothing.”
He blinked, looking somewhat confused, “I wouldn’t say it was all for nothing…”
“You just said it when you’ve never even asked—“
“Yes I did, on my paper. Didn’t you read the conclusion?”
12
A smile rests on her lips as her eyes seem to be looking into the past. Haley Hotchner allows a tear to slide down her cheeks as she finally accepts that her ex-husband has changed. You reach for her hand and squeeze it with reassurance that the future has yet to come. Softly she says, “You know when I met Aaron while auditioning for the school play, I couldn’t stop laughing because of all the jokes he was making. He was referencing to Taming of the Shrew but we were the only ones in the room to understand it. It was like an inside joke, only between two strangers.”
“Really? Hotch was really that lax back then?” you smile. “And how did this marriage thing happen?”
“Just like any other. A simple dinner at my house. I knew it was going to happen because he dropped the receipt, but I still felt like an idiot when I didn’t know how to say yes.” She laughs softly. “He has changed…”
“He still loves you, obviously,” you respond. “Things have been rough for him at work.”
“That again. It’s always true, isn’t it?” she frowns, and suddenly the expression fades away as she stares at your ring and asks, “And you? How did you and Spencer get married?”
A grin breaks out on your lips as the memory floods back.
You raise an eyebrow at his rather interesting stance. Spencer is leaning uneasily against the counter and smiling nervously at you. Dinner at your place has always been interesting when it involves Spencer. He murmurs, licking his dry lips, “When did you get there?”
“Well, Spencer, for the past ten minutes, you and I have been standing here in the kitchen, preparing our dinner. You ARE cutting up the green onions and not the tomatoes, right? You know how I like my tomatoes.” You could only shake your head when he moved aside to reveal the diced tomatoes. “Never mind, come over here and help me with the meat loaf.”
The piece of meat cut easily when you slice your knife through it. From the corner of your eyes, you could see his shaking hands appear from each side of you until they hover slightly above your hands. Spencer’s uneven breathing tickles your neck, causing you to jump and step back… onto his feet. Spencer’s forehead slams against your shoulder blade as he jumps and the knife slices across the back of your hand before dropping onto the cutting table. The two of you stumble onto the ground, with him on his back and your back against his chest.
When you finally regain your breathing, you mutter, “What was that all about, Spencer?”
“…Ah… I’m sorry, [your name], I didn’t mean to…do that…” he mumbles.
After dinner was all done, you two are now sitting across from each other, with a candle nearby to romanticize the environment even more. You smile and he smiles back—hesitantly. You couldn’t help but wonder what is going on with him tonight. He has been acting strangely and surely, Spencer is usually careful when it comes to cooking. The man’s brains seem to make up for every other skill that he lacks, cooking included. Not to mention… you wonder as the suspicion that had appeared not two days ago wanders back to your mind, Spencer had disappeared without saying a word. Even when he came back, he merely responds to your questions with evasive answers (and actions) that are very successful in drawing your attention away from your curiosities.
“Is something wrong?” you finally ask.
“N-no, nothing’s wrong. Uh… let’s eat, shall we?” he stutters.
So the dining starts. Small talks entail with Spencer, every now and then, watching your face intently as though waiting for a certain response or reaction to his questions or answers. A wide grin suddenly breaks out on his face before a cranky meow resonates from underneath the table, followed by Spencer’s howl of pain. His knee hits the bottom of the table, almost knocking the plates over. Your cat springs out from and leaps onto the couch before it hisses at your boyfriend and runs away.
“Spencer, what happened?” you cried, helping him up so he could move over to the couch.
He winces in pain. “Wh-what do you mean what happened? U-underneath the table, didn’t y-you…”
“What are you talking about? Spencer, is something wrong?”
Your eyes start to tear up and as soon as your boyfriend sees it, his eyes widens in horror. “NO! [your name]! Everything’s fine!”
“—Because if you’re trying to break up with me—“
“We’re not going to break up—“
“—It better not be because you like someone else—“
“—[your name]! You’re not listening to me! I—“
“—Spencer Reid, if you even think of walking out of that door tonight, I will—“
“—wanted to propose to you tonight—“
“—call your mother—Wait, what?”
“You’re going to call my mother?” An expression of amusement blooms on his face, mixed with slight confusion. “What was she going to do about it?”
“If it means keeping you here…” you sniffs. “You want to get married to me?”
“Well, of course, why wouldn’t I?” he smiles, drawing from his pocket a velvet box, “I visited my mom two week ago to see if she would lend me her ring. She wants to see it on your finger…”
You nod profusely, encircling your arms around his neck to plant a kiss on his lips, “Y-yes, yes, yes, yes! Yes, I would marry you.”
“[your name]!” he laughs, returning the kisses, “I didn’t get to ask the question yet!”
“Well, I gave you the answer, and I’ll give it to you again. Yes, I’ll marry you!” After cuddling on the couch for a while, a thought suddenly occupies your mind, “Spencer?”
“Hm?” he responds groggily. Seems like he has fallen asleep. “What’s wrong?”
“What was going on under the table?” you ask.
You couldn’t see his face, but you could almost tell he is blushing. “W-well, I was… you see, I was looking for your… foot.”
“My foot?” The answer dawns on you once again, “Wait a minute, were you trying to play footsie with me?”
“Really? Hotch was really that lax back then?” you smile. “And how did this marriage thing happen?”
“Just like any other. A simple dinner at my house. I knew it was going to happen because he dropped the receipt, but I still felt like an idiot when I didn’t know how to say yes.” She laughs softly. “He has changed…”
“He still loves you, obviously,” you respond. “Things have been rough for him at work.”
“That again. It’s always true, isn’t it?” she frowns, and suddenly the expression fades away as she stares at your ring and asks, “And you? How did you and Spencer get married?”
A grin breaks out on your lips as the memory floods back.
You raise an eyebrow at his rather interesting stance. Spencer is leaning uneasily against the counter and smiling nervously at you. Dinner at your place has always been interesting when it involves Spencer. He murmurs, licking his dry lips, “When did you get there?”
“Well, Spencer, for the past ten minutes, you and I have been standing here in the kitchen, preparing our dinner. You ARE cutting up the green onions and not the tomatoes, right? You know how I like my tomatoes.” You could only shake your head when he moved aside to reveal the diced tomatoes. “Never mind, come over here and help me with the meat loaf.”
The piece of meat cut easily when you slice your knife through it. From the corner of your eyes, you could see his shaking hands appear from each side of you until they hover slightly above your hands. Spencer’s uneven breathing tickles your neck, causing you to jump and step back… onto his feet. Spencer’s forehead slams against your shoulder blade as he jumps and the knife slices across the back of your hand before dropping onto the cutting table. The two of you stumble onto the ground, with him on his back and your back against his chest.
When you finally regain your breathing, you mutter, “What was that all about, Spencer?”
“…Ah… I’m sorry, [your name], I didn’t mean to…do that…” he mumbles.
After dinner was all done, you two are now sitting across from each other, with a candle nearby to romanticize the environment even more. You smile and he smiles back—hesitantly. You couldn’t help but wonder what is going on with him tonight. He has been acting strangely and surely, Spencer is usually careful when it comes to cooking. The man’s brains seem to make up for every other skill that he lacks, cooking included. Not to mention… you wonder as the suspicion that had appeared not two days ago wanders back to your mind, Spencer had disappeared without saying a word. Even when he came back, he merely responds to your questions with evasive answers (and actions) that are very successful in drawing your attention away from your curiosities.
“Is something wrong?” you finally ask.
“N-no, nothing’s wrong. Uh… let’s eat, shall we?” he stutters.
So the dining starts. Small talks entail with Spencer, every now and then, watching your face intently as though waiting for a certain response or reaction to his questions or answers. A wide grin suddenly breaks out on his face before a cranky meow resonates from underneath the table, followed by Spencer’s howl of pain. His knee hits the bottom of the table, almost knocking the plates over. Your cat springs out from and leaps onto the couch before it hisses at your boyfriend and runs away.
“Spencer, what happened?” you cried, helping him up so he could move over to the couch.
He winces in pain. “Wh-what do you mean what happened? U-underneath the table, didn’t y-you…”
“What are you talking about? Spencer, is something wrong?”
Your eyes start to tear up and as soon as your boyfriend sees it, his eyes widens in horror. “NO! [your name]! Everything’s fine!”
“—Because if you’re trying to break up with me—“
“We’re not going to break up—“
“—It better not be because you like someone else—“
“—[your name]! You’re not listening to me! I—“
“—Spencer Reid, if you even think of walking out of that door tonight, I will—“
“—wanted to propose to you tonight—“
“—call your mother—Wait, what?”
“You’re going to call my mother?” An expression of amusement blooms on his face, mixed with slight confusion. “What was she going to do about it?”
“If it means keeping you here…” you sniffs. “You want to get married to me?”
“Well, of course, why wouldn’t I?” he smiles, drawing from his pocket a velvet box, “I visited my mom two week ago to see if she would lend me her ring. She wants to see it on your finger…”
You nod profusely, encircling your arms around his neck to plant a kiss on his lips, “Y-yes, yes, yes, yes! Yes, I would marry you.”
“[your name]!” he laughs, returning the kisses, “I didn’t get to ask the question yet!”
“Well, I gave you the answer, and I’ll give it to you again. Yes, I’ll marry you!” After cuddling on the couch for a while, a thought suddenly occupies your mind, “Spencer?”
“Hm?” he responds groggily. Seems like he has fallen asleep. “What’s wrong?”
“What was going on under the table?” you ask.
You couldn’t see his face, but you could almost tell he is blushing. “W-well, I was… you see, I was looking for your… foot.”
“My foot?” The answer dawns on you once again, “Wait a minute, were you trying to play footsie with me?”
13
He was a stranger to you. He walked past the flower shop every morning at eight o’clock, while you would be concentrating on the bouquet arrangement that was to be picked up in the afternoon of that day. Sometimes he would be holding a cup of coffee, sometimes a book. The shaggy hair which dangled just above his shoulders were just a tad shorter than yours because you didn’t like to keep your hair long, claiming that it always got in the way of your work. Said hair would have been shorter if you could help it, high-paying customers always seem to have some discrimination against trauma scars. You didn’t know he existed, or that he lived three apartments down from yours.
You also didn’t know that every day, he would sit in a café next to your shop and gaze through the window to see your focused expression which was oblivious to the world. You would always casually wave at the person also getting his mail but never take notice of his face. Because of that, you have never seen his pained expression which lingered when you would offer no indication of recognition. To top it off, you never did remember that you had walked right past him in the hospital after you woke up from your car accident, not seeing how the ring on your finger matched his.
Those brown eyes always gazed at you at eight o’clock in the morning, waiting for the day that you would look up and run out of the café shop and into his open arms.
You also didn’t know that every day, he would sit in a café next to your shop and gaze through the window to see your focused expression which was oblivious to the world. You would always casually wave at the person also getting his mail but never take notice of his face. Because of that, you have never seen his pained expression which lingered when you would offer no indication of recognition. To top it off, you never did remember that you had walked right past him in the hospital after you woke up from your car accident, not seeing how the ring on your finger matched his.
Those brown eyes always gazed at you at eight o’clock in the morning, waiting for the day that you would look up and run out of the café shop and into his open arms.
14
"Do you really have to go, Spencer?" The way you said his name should have had him salivating until tomorrow, but instead he found his throat dried of any appropriate response and his heart skipping so many beats that he'd probably die of malfunction. If he didn't have to leave in an hour to live under a new name with his partner for the next two weeks to play house in order to catch the unsub, he'd have you on your back in a flash. You pouted, moving against his lap while you were straddling it.
"B-but, [your name]..." he said cutely, "It's important. Hotch said--"
"Who cares what Hotch said? Do you know that I can crush him like a bug? All I have to do is grab him and squeeze until his face turns purple--"
Your boyfriend held his finger to his lips, making shush noises as though you were a child. Really? Was that necessary at all? You, out of all people, had the right to be jealous. If anything, you SHOULD be jealous, or else every other girl in the force would be all over his little genius, magic-tricks-performing, adorable ass! What you were doing was a show of power and if you didn't know any better, the man had delayed you for the better of two years of dating from getting onto his lap and straddling him the way that you were doing. He claimed to be shy and traditional (despite the way he was in bed) and somehow had you convinced that he would be crushed under your weight. Well, you’d show him!
Your lower lip jutted out at his attempt to look objective in such a distressful situation. Spencer whimpered softly as your eyes grew wide and pitiful. "You don't like what I'm doing, Spencer?"
"Yes--wait, no! I mean, yes, uh, no, no! You've got it all wrong! I do like what you're doing!" he protested. He whined as you moved, accidentally grinding against his privates. "[your name]!"
"What?!" You failed miserably at looking innocent. He could see right through you.
He hissed, trying to push you off, "We're in a public place! People could be watching!"
"Oh hush! Who would come to the archives room, much less all the way in the Z sections, in the middle of the day?" Speaking of the devil...
"[your name]? Are you here?"
You moved quickly, “accidentally” shuffling against parts that you REALLY didn’t mean to brush against in the process of getting up. Spencer stifled a groan while you responded, “You need something, sir?” By the time you reached your desk, you were still fixing your unkempt clothes. Hotchner raised an eyebrow but decided not to ask.
“I need you to find everything on Greg Montgomery and make copies of the file. Be sure to have it on my desk before I leave today.”
“Done. I left it on your desk before lunch. JJ asked me to do it.”
“Thanks.” When he turned around to leave, Hotchner called back, “We’re leaving in an hour. Don’t be late, Reid.”
Spencer shuffled out from his hiding spot, looking relatively normal and flustered. “W-will do, Hotch.”
“What was that all about?”
“What was what?” Your boyfriend was looking incredibly suspicious.
“That. Your voices sound like you guys have some kind of secret. Are you guys partying together or something? Hah! Spencer Reid and Aaron Hotchner! The life of the party--”
Before you could say anything else, he replied, "Iwanttomarryyou."
"What?"
"I want to marry you."
“…you want to marry me? Why me?”
Spencer rested his forehead against yours and whispered softly, "I want to marry you, [your name]. After these two weeks end, I want to be the guy at the end of the aisle that you will marry."
"Don't you ever doubt such a thing. Of course I would marry you. I can’t see myself with anyone else. Though... About the aisle thing... I'm not exactly Catholic."
The mood shut down completely with your boyfriend's deadpanned response, "Really?"
With a smirk plastered on your face that made his scrunch in horror and distracted from your wandering hand, you slurred seductively, "If I were Catholic, do you think I would be able to do this?" At his protest, you pushed him onto your chair and straddled him, growling, “Spencer Reid, we have LESS THAN AN HOUR left. If you dare say no, you might as well start crying rape!”
"B-but, [your name]..." he said cutely, "It's important. Hotch said--"
"Who cares what Hotch said? Do you know that I can crush him like a bug? All I have to do is grab him and squeeze until his face turns purple--"
Your boyfriend held his finger to his lips, making shush noises as though you were a child. Really? Was that necessary at all? You, out of all people, had the right to be jealous. If anything, you SHOULD be jealous, or else every other girl in the force would be all over his little genius, magic-tricks-performing, adorable ass! What you were doing was a show of power and if you didn't know any better, the man had delayed you for the better of two years of dating from getting onto his lap and straddling him the way that you were doing. He claimed to be shy and traditional (despite the way he was in bed) and somehow had you convinced that he would be crushed under your weight. Well, you’d show him!
Your lower lip jutted out at his attempt to look objective in such a distressful situation. Spencer whimpered softly as your eyes grew wide and pitiful. "You don't like what I'm doing, Spencer?"
"Yes--wait, no! I mean, yes, uh, no, no! You've got it all wrong! I do like what you're doing!" he protested. He whined as you moved, accidentally grinding against his privates. "[your name]!"
"What?!" You failed miserably at looking innocent. He could see right through you.
He hissed, trying to push you off, "We're in a public place! People could be watching!"
"Oh hush! Who would come to the archives room, much less all the way in the Z sections, in the middle of the day?" Speaking of the devil...
"[your name]? Are you here?"
You moved quickly, “accidentally” shuffling against parts that you REALLY didn’t mean to brush against in the process of getting up. Spencer stifled a groan while you responded, “You need something, sir?” By the time you reached your desk, you were still fixing your unkempt clothes. Hotchner raised an eyebrow but decided not to ask.
“I need you to find everything on Greg Montgomery and make copies of the file. Be sure to have it on my desk before I leave today.”
“Done. I left it on your desk before lunch. JJ asked me to do it.”
“Thanks.” When he turned around to leave, Hotchner called back, “We’re leaving in an hour. Don’t be late, Reid.”
Spencer shuffled out from his hiding spot, looking relatively normal and flustered. “W-will do, Hotch.”
“What was that all about?”
“What was what?” Your boyfriend was looking incredibly suspicious.
“That. Your voices sound like you guys have some kind of secret. Are you guys partying together or something? Hah! Spencer Reid and Aaron Hotchner! The life of the party--”
Before you could say anything else, he replied, "Iwanttomarryyou."
"What?"
"I want to marry you."
“…you want to marry me? Why me?”
Spencer rested his forehead against yours and whispered softly, "I want to marry you, [your name]. After these two weeks end, I want to be the guy at the end of the aisle that you will marry."
"Don't you ever doubt such a thing. Of course I would marry you. I can’t see myself with anyone else. Though... About the aisle thing... I'm not exactly Catholic."
The mood shut down completely with your boyfriend's deadpanned response, "Really?"
With a smirk plastered on your face that made his scrunch in horror and distracted from your wandering hand, you slurred seductively, "If I were Catholic, do you think I would be able to do this?" At his protest, you pushed him onto your chair and straddled him, growling, “Spencer Reid, we have LESS THAN AN HOUR left. If you dare say no, you might as well start crying rape!”
15
"[your name], are you almost done in there?" Spencer Reid muttered listlessly. His palms were sweating again. After you told him about a certain surprise that he would never forget, his imagination ran wild.
Perhaps you have whipped cream? He personally preferred chocolate because of its texture against your skin, but whatever you wanted would be okay with him. He just liked to spend time with you, especially on off days like these. Maybe you had honey, you could always do something interesting with it... To him, anyway.
"Spencer?" you called out oh-so-innocently. Spencer swallowed, giving a weak reply and shifting to ease the tension in his boxers. "Red or black?"
Red... His favorite color. It contrasted against your skin so well and made you glow ever so alluringly. That one time when you were walking around the house in just his sweater vest... He swore that if the neighbors didn't know that you two were dating and that you were older than eighteen, they would think that he's some kind of pervert. He had two nosebleeds that morning from just looking at you and he ended up taking a “sick” day because of said nosebleeds. Hotchner didn’t ask any questions, but Morgan didn’t even spare a second.
Then there was black. Oh dear... Now that, that was his favorite color... On you. It definitely worked his imagination whenever you wear that negligée that barely covered anything. Spencer loved to run his hands over the texture of the lace that seemed to tattoo itself on your skin. You were always on top whenever you wore black… oh, the things you’d do to him. Spencer swallowed again, dropping his head back in case a nosebleed would be coming on the way. Any time but now, he prayed.
Black. Black it is. He tried to make his voice as calm as possible, but all that came out was a squeak. "B-b-black, please."
Minutes later, the knob turned counterclockwise slowly. Spencer swallowed dryly, desperate to generate some form of saliva. The first thing he saw was black and then your skin. You were practically naked in front of him! Spencer straightened up, clearing his throat, and said, "H-hi."
"Well, hi to you too," you grinned, revealing a band of white gold you were biting between your teeth.
"Wha...?" His eyes widened when you tugged on your panties.
Plucking the white ring from your mouth, you hovered it above your nethers before suggesting oh-so-suggestively, "I'll say the words if you can find it."
Perhaps you have whipped cream? He personally preferred chocolate because of its texture against your skin, but whatever you wanted would be okay with him. He just liked to spend time with you, especially on off days like these. Maybe you had honey, you could always do something interesting with it... To him, anyway.
"Spencer?" you called out oh-so-innocently. Spencer swallowed, giving a weak reply and shifting to ease the tension in his boxers. "Red or black?"
Red... His favorite color. It contrasted against your skin so well and made you glow ever so alluringly. That one time when you were walking around the house in just his sweater vest... He swore that if the neighbors didn't know that you two were dating and that you were older than eighteen, they would think that he's some kind of pervert. He had two nosebleeds that morning from just looking at you and he ended up taking a “sick” day because of said nosebleeds. Hotchner didn’t ask any questions, but Morgan didn’t even spare a second.
Then there was black. Oh dear... Now that, that was his favorite color... On you. It definitely worked his imagination whenever you wear that negligée that barely covered anything. Spencer loved to run his hands over the texture of the lace that seemed to tattoo itself on your skin. You were always on top whenever you wore black… oh, the things you’d do to him. Spencer swallowed again, dropping his head back in case a nosebleed would be coming on the way. Any time but now, he prayed.
Black. Black it is. He tried to make his voice as calm as possible, but all that came out was a squeak. "B-b-black, please."
Minutes later, the knob turned counterclockwise slowly. Spencer swallowed dryly, desperate to generate some form of saliva. The first thing he saw was black and then your skin. You were practically naked in front of him! Spencer straightened up, clearing his throat, and said, "H-hi."
"Well, hi to you too," you grinned, revealing a band of white gold you were biting between your teeth.
"Wha...?" His eyes widened when you tugged on your panties.
Plucking the white ring from your mouth, you hovered it above your nethers before suggesting oh-so-suggestively, "I'll say the words if you can find it."
16
“Yes.”
“No way.”
“Yes way.”
“You’re lying!”
“No I’m not!”
“Penelope Garcia!”
“[your FULL name]!”
“He did not tell you that.”
“Yes he did. He’s going to pop the question today, THIS AFTERNOON, at 3 PM.”
“Swear it.”
“Swear.”
“No way.”
“Yes way.”
“You’re lying!”
“No I’m not!”
“Penelope Garcia!”
“[your FULL name]!”
“He did not tell you that.”
“Yes he did. He’s going to pop the question today, THIS AFTERNOON, at 3 PM.”
“Swear it.”
“Swear.”
17
“Mom, I want to introduce you to my girlfriend, [your name].” Spencer presented you proudly to his mother, Diane Reid, in your white sundress and comfy tan sandles. With your hair as long as it was, you looked like a church-going girl. Well, you tried your best. After not being able to find any feminine fabric in your closet of unisex clothing, you dragged your boyfriend out to the stores to find said decent clothing, regretting that you had listened to him about being satisfied with your physical appearance. He whined and groaned but in the end, Spencer bought everything that looked remotely good on you, which was… everything. His mother nodded, throwing you a glare. Spencer cleared his throat to ease the tension and quickly remarked, “W-well, you two should get to know one another… I will go out to buy some drinks.”
After his awkward departure passed, his mother scowled, “So are you the little gold digger that Spencer’s going to give my ring to?”
You raised an eyebrow at her remark. “Ma’am, do you know that the United States is no longer on the gold standard?”
She responded with a smirk, “Do you think you’re smart?”
“Not quite, I do believe that I’m rather knowledgeable with today’s current events though or rather, history, since, you know, we’ve been off the gold standard for a while now…” you trailed off, eyeing the way her eyes gazed at you, “Spencer talks about you everyday, you know.”
“You too.”
“Or so he says.”
“He does. The kid fills up several pages about you in his letters. It’s almost as though he was submitting some kind of essay. Like he doesn’t know anything else,” she laughed dryly. “Kids. You take care of them and nurture them… then they put you into a mental hospital in Las Vegas as soon as it’s legal and next thing you know, they’re bringing home some wannabe good girl.”
“Wannabe?”
“I see your little tattoo,” she remarked, eyeing the butterfly on your wrist, almost hidden by your bracelets. “Rebel, aren’t we?” Perching her chin against her arm, Diane Reid muttered softly, “I never paid attention to how tall he has gotten.”
“Understandable,” you nodded.
A tiny smile grew on the older woman’s lips. It disappeared until Spencer appeared, carrying bottles of cold water. He glanced at you, searching for any indications of a fight. Diane frowned at the connection between her son and you, but the frown slowly faded away.
“Spencer…” she spoke softly, “It’s on my nightstand. Remember to get it polished.”
After his awkward departure passed, his mother scowled, “So are you the little gold digger that Spencer’s going to give my ring to?”
You raised an eyebrow at her remark. “Ma’am, do you know that the United States is no longer on the gold standard?”
She responded with a smirk, “Do you think you’re smart?”
“Not quite, I do believe that I’m rather knowledgeable with today’s current events though or rather, history, since, you know, we’ve been off the gold standard for a while now…” you trailed off, eyeing the way her eyes gazed at you, “Spencer talks about you everyday, you know.”
“You too.”
“Or so he says.”
“He does. The kid fills up several pages about you in his letters. It’s almost as though he was submitting some kind of essay. Like he doesn’t know anything else,” she laughed dryly. “Kids. You take care of them and nurture them… then they put you into a mental hospital in Las Vegas as soon as it’s legal and next thing you know, they’re bringing home some wannabe good girl.”
“Wannabe?”
“I see your little tattoo,” she remarked, eyeing the butterfly on your wrist, almost hidden by your bracelets. “Rebel, aren’t we?” Perching her chin against her arm, Diane Reid muttered softly, “I never paid attention to how tall he has gotten.”
“Understandable,” you nodded.
A tiny smile grew on the older woman’s lips. It disappeared until Spencer appeared, carrying bottles of cold water. He glanced at you, searching for any indications of a fight. Diane frowned at the connection between her son and you, but the frown slowly faded away.
“Spencer…” she spoke softly, “It’s on my nightstand. Remember to get it polished.”
18
New York would have been a blast if you were there for a vacation. Instead, you were here on instructions dictated by King Hotchner. A week in New York to go undercover and sneak into a publishing company to find the link between the newspaper editor and the vigilante murders gangsters and prostitutes happening around Manhattan. Joy. Obviously someone had been running out of headlines and decided to resort to more desperate means. So here you were, a greenhorn journalist (as described in your new profile) looking for a spot at the New York Times.
Oh yea. You were also supposed to be married. Interestingly enough, your boyfriend didn't trust you to work with a pervert. So he's the other journalist... For a more knowledgeable community. While you were standing at the counter, watching him run out of the building to get his credentials (because he forgot it so easily and all), several men smiled at you as they walked past. Not to mention, the male receptionist had taken out several minutes of his life to make small conversations with you, to which you did not pay much attention.
"Summer Davis," the male receptionist voiced out your alias with a drawl similar to yours. A Texan in New York. No, TWO! This was certainly interesting. He smiled. "Pretty name you got there, lady."
Before you can say anything, a hand encircled itself firmly around your waist as a body leaned into you from behind. "Reid. Summer Reid. Hi, I'm Matthew Reid, her husband. Davis is her maiden name." You smiled politely, playing with the ring you had gotten earlier that day on your finger.
The receptionist dropped his smile immediately and returned a "Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Reid--"
"Dr. Reid. Dr. and Mrs. Reid." A brisk smile. His arm tightened around your waist and you were resisting the temptation of stomping onto his feet. Even when you weren't looking at him, he probably had the most obnoxious expression on his face right now.
"Ah, I'm sorry. We've been expecting you. Please take the elevator to the fifth floor, Mr. Lopez will be with you shortly." You nodded and smiled before leaking out your Texan accent, to which he gave a wink.
Only after you got into the elevator did you say, "Nice going, Dr. Reid. Hotch would have our asses if we blew our cover so soon. And…a bit possessive, aren't we?"
The happy yet assertive face of Dr. Spencer Reid faded away only to be replaced by concern. "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"
"No, but thanks. He was getting kind of annoying." Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you kissed him on the lips. "My hero..."
Spencer smiled, his eyes lingering on yours, "Do you like the ring? I picked it out myself."
"Really? If I didn't know any better, I'd think that you're proposing to me." You grinned slyly.
"What if I am?" Spencer wrapped his arm around your waist. "What are you gonna do about it?"
"Well, of course, I'm gonna answer you and of course, I'm..." Kiss. "...going..." Kiss. "...do..." Kiss. "...this..." Slowly your hand slithered from his chest down his flat stomach, then down to the buckle... Spencer closed his eyes blissfully as your hand wandered down to...
DING! The elevator door opened and you pulled away, grinning rather slyly as you strutted out of the small space, hips swaying way too seductively for him. "Sorry, baby, I guess we'll continue it later..."
Oh yea. You were also supposed to be married. Interestingly enough, your boyfriend didn't trust you to work with a pervert. So he's the other journalist... For a more knowledgeable community. While you were standing at the counter, watching him run out of the building to get his credentials (because he forgot it so easily and all), several men smiled at you as they walked past. Not to mention, the male receptionist had taken out several minutes of his life to make small conversations with you, to which you did not pay much attention.
"Summer Davis," the male receptionist voiced out your alias with a drawl similar to yours. A Texan in New York. No, TWO! This was certainly interesting. He smiled. "Pretty name you got there, lady."
Before you can say anything, a hand encircled itself firmly around your waist as a body leaned into you from behind. "Reid. Summer Reid. Hi, I'm Matthew Reid, her husband. Davis is her maiden name." You smiled politely, playing with the ring you had gotten earlier that day on your finger.
The receptionist dropped his smile immediately and returned a "Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Reid--"
"Dr. Reid. Dr. and Mrs. Reid." A brisk smile. His arm tightened around your waist and you were resisting the temptation of stomping onto his feet. Even when you weren't looking at him, he probably had the most obnoxious expression on his face right now.
"Ah, I'm sorry. We've been expecting you. Please take the elevator to the fifth floor, Mr. Lopez will be with you shortly." You nodded and smiled before leaking out your Texan accent, to which he gave a wink.
Only after you got into the elevator did you say, "Nice going, Dr. Reid. Hotch would have our asses if we blew our cover so soon. And…a bit possessive, aren't we?"
The happy yet assertive face of Dr. Spencer Reid faded away only to be replaced by concern. "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"
"No, but thanks. He was getting kind of annoying." Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you kissed him on the lips. "My hero..."
Spencer smiled, his eyes lingering on yours, "Do you like the ring? I picked it out myself."
"Really? If I didn't know any better, I'd think that you're proposing to me." You grinned slyly.
"What if I am?" Spencer wrapped his arm around your waist. "What are you gonna do about it?"
"Well, of course, I'm gonna answer you and of course, I'm..." Kiss. "...going..." Kiss. "...do..." Kiss. "...this..." Slowly your hand slithered from his chest down his flat stomach, then down to the buckle... Spencer closed his eyes blissfully as your hand wandered down to...
DING! The elevator door opened and you pulled away, grinning rather slyly as you strutted out of the small space, hips swaying way too seductively for him. "Sorry, baby, I guess we'll continue it later..."
19
Your worst fears had just come true. You knew you should have paid attention to that nightmare that came to your months ago. Violent rabbits in a war against rabid squirrels over fluffy marshmallows were NEVER good signs of things to come, especially for you. Your heart was slamming against your chest now as you smiled nervously at him across the candle-lit table. The soft piano music playing in the background seemed to be repeating over and over again, singing the tunes of the dooming end of this relationship. Not to mention, the couple at the next table ended their relationship in the most DREADFUL way possible.’
As you two were waiting for your food, theirs had already come. Some waiter guy pulled up with the cart covered by a tray. You smiled at your boyfriend, quite excited to see what the man had in mind for his girlfriend until it opened and you saw the grin on the girl’s face dropped off the face of the earth. Your eyes quickly darted to what was on the plate: a cake with twenty-nine candles placed carefully above the words: “Let’s break up, but happy birthday!”
Your eyes widened in horror as you looked over at Spencer, who didn’t seem to notice the change of atmosphere at the table next door. Instead, he was squinting and trying to see what was on the cake. Quickly, you reached across the table to turn his face towards you—an attempt that might have seemed comical if there hadn’t been three sticks of candles in the way. It immediately caught fire onto your sleeves and you quickly stood up, knocking your chair back and everything that happened after… was a blur.
After being promptly kicked out of the restaurant by the owner, you two were then walking down the street, feeling rather awkward. You hugged yourself, trying to cover the frayed sleeves hidden inside the jacket that Spencer had lent you. He hasn’t said a word, merely cleared his throat and helped you up and out of the restaurant. You rather he didn’t say anything, all you could hear at the moment was him echoing the words on the cake, despite that it was only your imagination.
“…so… uh, are you alright?” he asked, clearing his throat and licking his lips nervously. His hands were stuck in BOTH of his pockets, making yours feel rather cold and lonely.
“Yea… I’m sorry, Spencer. I know how long you’ve been trying to get reservations for that place…” you murmured.
He shrugged, responding rather nonchalantly, “It’s alright. As long as you aren’t hurt.”
“I have to tell you something.” You couldn’t tell who said it first or who said it louder, but as the heat traveled to your cheeks when you saw the way he was looking at you, the words fell silent. It must be your imagination, one last fantasy before it would break.
Spencer cleared his throat again, “I know we’ve only been dating for five years… and despite my mother’s advice to wait a while longer, I don’t know how much longer I can wait.” You weren’t listening to anything he was saying. Your ears fell deaf to everything except the words: “At this point, I don’t see how our relationship could change…”
You started shaking, but you wouldn’t let him see the tears you were trying to blink away. No way. Spencer kept talking, as though you had been listening all this time, but you didn’t really hear him. However, if you were the air molecules, this would be what you hear, “…for the worst. I mean, you love me and me, I definitely love you. More than life itself… and I meant to tell you that under a more soothing atmosphere, but considering what had just happened in the restaurant, it’s only logical that I propose under the stars. So, [your name], will you mar—“
“I’M PREGNANT.”
“…what?”
As you two were waiting for your food, theirs had already come. Some waiter guy pulled up with the cart covered by a tray. You smiled at your boyfriend, quite excited to see what the man had in mind for his girlfriend until it opened and you saw the grin on the girl’s face dropped off the face of the earth. Your eyes quickly darted to what was on the plate: a cake with twenty-nine candles placed carefully above the words: “Let’s break up, but happy birthday!”
Your eyes widened in horror as you looked over at Spencer, who didn’t seem to notice the change of atmosphere at the table next door. Instead, he was squinting and trying to see what was on the cake. Quickly, you reached across the table to turn his face towards you—an attempt that might have seemed comical if there hadn’t been three sticks of candles in the way. It immediately caught fire onto your sleeves and you quickly stood up, knocking your chair back and everything that happened after… was a blur.
After being promptly kicked out of the restaurant by the owner, you two were then walking down the street, feeling rather awkward. You hugged yourself, trying to cover the frayed sleeves hidden inside the jacket that Spencer had lent you. He hasn’t said a word, merely cleared his throat and helped you up and out of the restaurant. You rather he didn’t say anything, all you could hear at the moment was him echoing the words on the cake, despite that it was only your imagination.
“…so… uh, are you alright?” he asked, clearing his throat and licking his lips nervously. His hands were stuck in BOTH of his pockets, making yours feel rather cold and lonely.
“Yea… I’m sorry, Spencer. I know how long you’ve been trying to get reservations for that place…” you murmured.
He shrugged, responding rather nonchalantly, “It’s alright. As long as you aren’t hurt.”
“I have to tell you something.” You couldn’t tell who said it first or who said it louder, but as the heat traveled to your cheeks when you saw the way he was looking at you, the words fell silent. It must be your imagination, one last fantasy before it would break.
Spencer cleared his throat again, “I know we’ve only been dating for five years… and despite my mother’s advice to wait a while longer, I don’t know how much longer I can wait.” You weren’t listening to anything he was saying. Your ears fell deaf to everything except the words: “At this point, I don’t see how our relationship could change…”
You started shaking, but you wouldn’t let him see the tears you were trying to blink away. No way. Spencer kept talking, as though you had been listening all this time, but you didn’t really hear him. However, if you were the air molecules, this would be what you hear, “…for the worst. I mean, you love me and me, I definitely love you. More than life itself… and I meant to tell you that under a more soothing atmosphere, but considering what had just happened in the restaurant, it’s only logical that I propose under the stars. So, [your name], will you mar—“
“I’M PREGNANT.”
“…what?”
20
You wanted to die. Anything must have been better than standing in the middle of this humiliation. Somehow the lush blue carpet picked out by Hotchner seemed much more interesting than the man filled with deep thoughts regarding the piece of paper with his name inside and outside of it.
Well, to put it simply, what happened not long ago when you were writing notes to Garcia during the briefing. You suspected that Hotchner knew about your heinous activity -- and unexpectedly (not), you had forgotten about the notes and Garcia was under the impression that you had assume the responsibility of the evidence of illegal of communication. A simple mistake.
Not.
"So you really feel that way, sweetie?" Garcia asked, reminding you of the contents.
"Well, I think we've reached a point where it's possible to further our relationship." You shrugged. "So where did you leave the note?"
"You have it," she remarked, rapidly typing away on her keyboard. When she saw the expression on your face, she whispered, "...don't you?"
You bolted back to the conference room to find it spotlessly clean. Oh god, someone took it. Someone who had been in the conference room earlier. Spencer wasn't there, he had been at a meeting with Rossi. And JJ,Prentiss, Garcia, Morgan, and Hotchner. Who else could be missing? Right around this time, you really wanted to have a janitorial staff. At least you'll have someone to talk to. When you sped past the cubicles of desks in the direction of the archive room, you failed to see the folded little highlighter yellow paper that one might find in Garcia's printer and the name scribbled on top with a familiar cursive scratching.
Well, to put it simply, what happened not long ago when you were writing notes to Garcia during the briefing. You suspected that Hotchner knew about your heinous activity -- and unexpectedly (not), you had forgotten about the notes and Garcia was under the impression that you had assume the responsibility of the evidence of illegal of communication. A simple mistake.
Not.
"So you really feel that way, sweetie?" Garcia asked, reminding you of the contents.
"Well, I think we've reached a point where it's possible to further our relationship." You shrugged. "So where did you leave the note?"
"You have it," she remarked, rapidly typing away on her keyboard. When she saw the expression on your face, she whispered, "...don't you?"
You bolted back to the conference room to find it spotlessly clean. Oh god, someone took it. Someone who had been in the conference room earlier. Spencer wasn't there, he had been at a meeting with Rossi. And JJ,Prentiss, Garcia, Morgan, and Hotchner. Who else could be missing? Right around this time, you really wanted to have a janitorial staff. At least you'll have someone to talk to. When you sped past the cubicles of desks in the direction of the archive room, you failed to see the folded little highlighter yellow paper that one might find in Garcia's printer and the name scribbled on top with a familiar cursive scratching.
21
“Bye, sweetie!” You grinned slyly, watching the way his face pinken after the passionate kiss you just shared in front of the entire café. You weren’t easy to embarrass, but Spencer can probably never walk into this place again without hearing wolf whistles.
Your boyfriend spared a meek farewell before following Morgan out of the coffee shop. Minutes later, the older man came in, smirking and holding a familiar box that said boyfriend had been flashing at you earlier, “He forgot to give this to you a while ago.”
Your boyfriend spared a meek farewell before following Morgan out of the coffee shop. Minutes later, the older man came in, smirking and holding a familiar box that said boyfriend had been flashing at you earlier, “He forgot to give this to you a while ago.”
22
Spencer smiled softly at the reflection of his platinum ring as he straightened his bow tie. He brushed the invisible dust on his suit collar and flashed another smile at the mirror for the sharpness of his image. He couldn’t believe it. Today was the day. Today was the day he’d watch you walk down the aisle to say perhaps the most sacred words that a woman could say to a man and vice versa. Morgan and Hotchner had just left him by his lonesome when Prentiss and Garcia called for their assistance with the mischievous boys who won’t stand still. He suspected that Jack had received instructions that would override his father’s commandment to behave on such a ceremonious day.
Tap, tap…
Spencer furrowed his eyebrows, scanning around the room for the sudden noise. Finding nothing, he started to put on his shoes. You guys had spent a long time looking for these shoes and minutes looking for the suits, ironically. Well, it was only expected that you and he would get carried away, trying on the suits. Spencer was defenseless when it came to your coy advances
Tap, tap…
Again? Okay… time for him to start search--
“Spencer! Open the window!” a small whispered came from the outside window. He glanced at the window and widened his eyes in horror at the sight of white silk draped upon a tree branch. You waved at him frantically, urging him to open the window.
After he helped you in, he demanded, “[your name], what were you doing out there? You could have fallen and broken your bones!”
“We obviously have not played on the same playground, Spencer. I was the queen of the monkey bars,” you boasted, stealing a chaste kiss on his cheeks. “It’s nice to see you.”
“We’re not supposed to see each other before the wedding!” he whispered.
You raised an eyebrow, “Do you want to see me or Rossi walk down the aisle?”
“You,” he squeaked.
“Alright then. Let’s get to work,” you muttered, going for his tie.
Spencer gasped, gripping your hands in an iron grasp: “Wait! What are you doing?!”
“What do you think I’m doing? Don’t you want it?” You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.
He pouted cutely: “Well… I mean, can’t it wait till… tonight?”
“Tonight? You mean we have to wait till nighttime?” You were obviously the innocent one in this situation, having been entirely oblivious to this ‘wedding night’ concept because of Garcia’s influences. “But Prentiss and Garcia…”
Oh, that was what it was about… Spencer groaned inwardly, trying to contemplate whether Jack’s sacrifice had been for a noble cause. “Tonight… the wedding night when you and I… you know.”
“Oh drop the act, Spencer Reid,” you grumbled, hungrily attacking his lips. After a while, he realized what was going on and hurriedly pushed you back, trying to straighten his clothes so that you wouldn’t see the product of your attack. “What’s wrong? You don’t want to be with me?”
He protested: “It’s not that… the wedding’s in thirty minutes—Oh, you’ll be the death of me…”
One must feel bad for the messenger, because thirty minutes later when Rossi knocked on the door to remind Spencer that he should be getting to the chapel, he had foolishly opened the door as well, thinking that he had earned such rights for introducing you to the man. Of course, he didn’t see anything revealing, but it was something just as traumatizing. It was like walking in on his own daughter changing even though he had seen nothing but the lacey material hanging on the mirror and the sound of your giggles as you slammed the door of the bathroom shut with Spencer and you inside of it. Rossi shrugged, shaking his head and closing the door while racking his brains for some sensible excuse as to why the groom and bride would be late to their own wedding.
Tap, tap…
Spencer furrowed his eyebrows, scanning around the room for the sudden noise. Finding nothing, he started to put on his shoes. You guys had spent a long time looking for these shoes and minutes looking for the suits, ironically. Well, it was only expected that you and he would get carried away, trying on the suits. Spencer was defenseless when it came to your coy advances
Tap, tap…
Again? Okay… time for him to start search--
“Spencer! Open the window!” a small whispered came from the outside window. He glanced at the window and widened his eyes in horror at the sight of white silk draped upon a tree branch. You waved at him frantically, urging him to open the window.
After he helped you in, he demanded, “[your name], what were you doing out there? You could have fallen and broken your bones!”
“We obviously have not played on the same playground, Spencer. I was the queen of the monkey bars,” you boasted, stealing a chaste kiss on his cheeks. “It’s nice to see you.”
“We’re not supposed to see each other before the wedding!” he whispered.
You raised an eyebrow, “Do you want to see me or Rossi walk down the aisle?”
“You,” he squeaked.
“Alright then. Let’s get to work,” you muttered, going for his tie.
Spencer gasped, gripping your hands in an iron grasp: “Wait! What are you doing?!”
“What do you think I’m doing? Don’t you want it?” You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.
He pouted cutely: “Well… I mean, can’t it wait till… tonight?”
“Tonight? You mean we have to wait till nighttime?” You were obviously the innocent one in this situation, having been entirely oblivious to this ‘wedding night’ concept because of Garcia’s influences. “But Prentiss and Garcia…”
Oh, that was what it was about… Spencer groaned inwardly, trying to contemplate whether Jack’s sacrifice had been for a noble cause. “Tonight… the wedding night when you and I… you know.”
“Oh drop the act, Spencer Reid,” you grumbled, hungrily attacking his lips. After a while, he realized what was going on and hurriedly pushed you back, trying to straighten his clothes so that you wouldn’t see the product of your attack. “What’s wrong? You don’t want to be with me?”
He protested: “It’s not that… the wedding’s in thirty minutes—Oh, you’ll be the death of me…”
One must feel bad for the messenger, because thirty minutes later when Rossi knocked on the door to remind Spencer that he should be getting to the chapel, he had foolishly opened the door as well, thinking that he had earned such rights for introducing you to the man. Of course, he didn’t see anything revealing, but it was something just as traumatizing. It was like walking in on his own daughter changing even though he had seen nothing but the lacey material hanging on the mirror and the sound of your giggles as you slammed the door of the bathroom shut with Spencer and you inside of it. Rossi shrugged, shaking his head and closing the door while racking his brains for some sensible excuse as to why the groom and bride would be late to their own wedding.
23
Spencer gawked at what you were doing in front of him. He hurried to catch the flying garments while you stripped and walked towards the ebony instrument at the end of the room. Pouting, he protested, “[your name]! We’re not supposed to be here right now! Put your clothes back on! We are not having sex on a piano!”
“If you say that again, you’ll never see them off again,” you threatened, beckoning him over with your finger as you sat on the piano bench. The auditorium, though empty, wasn’t even locked and Spencer nearly squirted blood out of his nose at the thought of someone walking in while you two would be making love. You were supposed to be working undercover, to find the unsub who had killed the pianist last month. Something rash like this would probably make Hotch seat you two at opposite ends of the room during briefing, hell, he might even separate you two on different missions.
King Hotch was scary as hell; Spencer could never understand why you couldn’t be intimidated. Hesitantly, he walked over, before he could say anything else, you pulled him by his tie and locked lips. Spencer returned it eagerly, closing the distance until you were straddling his laps and he was facing the piano. Well, at least anyone who might enter the auditorium may think he was practicing…
He jumped when he felt something cold touch his tongue. A ring. If he hadn’t been drugged with happiness by your kisses, he would have widened his eyes and blushed like a schoolgirl. Instead, all he could do was ask: “A… ring?”
You smirked, “You’re not the only one who can do magic tricks, you know.”
“If you say that again, you’ll never see them off again,” you threatened, beckoning him over with your finger as you sat on the piano bench. The auditorium, though empty, wasn’t even locked and Spencer nearly squirted blood out of his nose at the thought of someone walking in while you two would be making love. You were supposed to be working undercover, to find the unsub who had killed the pianist last month. Something rash like this would probably make Hotch seat you two at opposite ends of the room during briefing, hell, he might even separate you two on different missions.
King Hotch was scary as hell; Spencer could never understand why you couldn’t be intimidated. Hesitantly, he walked over, before he could say anything else, you pulled him by his tie and locked lips. Spencer returned it eagerly, closing the distance until you were straddling his laps and he was facing the piano. Well, at least anyone who might enter the auditorium may think he was practicing…
He jumped when he felt something cold touch his tongue. A ring. If he hadn’t been drugged with happiness by your kisses, he would have widened his eyes and blushed like a schoolgirl. Instead, all he could do was ask: “A… ring?”
You smirked, “You’re not the only one who can do magic tricks, you know.”
24
The diamond embedded in the silver band glittered lightly under the sunset flooding into the car. Spencer allowed a smile to find its way to his lips as he touched the heart-shaped gem. He had promised you the ring earlier this week, after he had given you the prize one and you would probably cry when you see this one. He almost didn't want to leave the parking lot of the BAU yet just so he can call you and tease you for leaving him to go home early, but he decided that he couldn't wait to see you either.
The other members of the BAU waved at him when they left, deducing that the look on his face was more than the usual happiness in his eyes whenever he was around you. While he turned on the engine, Spencer reached over to his dashboard shelf to lock the precious item away and before he could turn out of a parking lot, a dark car swerved out and nearly hit him. Spencer exhaled deeply, finding the incident too close for comfort.
On his way home, he couldn’t catch the thief who had been stealing money from a lady, but he was able to give her some of his money. It wasn’t much, but to say the least, it made him feel good for the day. Spencer was going home with a smile on his face. The apartment was quiet when he arrived and you didn’t answer him when he called out to you. Smirking—for perhaps the first time ever in his life—at the thought of what surprise you might be planning for him, Spencer hurried into the bedroom, hiding the velvet box in his pocket on the way.
“[your name]?” he called, peeking into the bathroom. Dark, empty. You weren’t there. Maybe you went out to get something for him. “Anybody home~?” He jumped when the phone rang; Spencer felt his heart lighten a bit, knowing that you were calling him. “Hello?”
“It’s been a while, Dr. Reid.”
The other members of the BAU waved at him when they left, deducing that the look on his face was more than the usual happiness in his eyes whenever he was around you. While he turned on the engine, Spencer reached over to his dashboard shelf to lock the precious item away and before he could turn out of a parking lot, a dark car swerved out and nearly hit him. Spencer exhaled deeply, finding the incident too close for comfort.
On his way home, he couldn’t catch the thief who had been stealing money from a lady, but he was able to give her some of his money. It wasn’t much, but to say the least, it made him feel good for the day. Spencer was going home with a smile on his face. The apartment was quiet when he arrived and you didn’t answer him when he called out to you. Smirking—for perhaps the first time ever in his life—at the thought of what surprise you might be planning for him, Spencer hurried into the bedroom, hiding the velvet box in his pocket on the way.
“[your name]?” he called, peeking into the bathroom. Dark, empty. You weren’t there. Maybe you went out to get something for him. “Anybody home~?” He jumped when the phone rang; Spencer felt his heart lighten a bit, knowing that you were calling him. “Hello?”
“It’s been a while, Dr. Reid.”
25
“I dare you to do something like that again.” Diane Reid stuffed another spoonful of her cheese and broccoli casserole into her son’s mouth. The twenty-four-year-old man pouted like a sick puppy, drawing an unsympathetic expression to her face. Scowling, she remarked: “Don’t give me that look, I got on the plane as soon as I received the message… and finished making this casserole.
Spencer took another bite,” Mom, I can feed myself…” He tried to steal the spoon from her when he saw you poke your head into the window. Excited, he waved at you and beckoned you and the thermos in your hand to enter the room. Spencer smiled widely at you until he saw the tired expression on your face that must have arisen from the stress. “Hi, [your name]…”
Diane repeated her disapproval towards her son’s recent actions when he had gotten into that anthrax incident, to which you merely laughed and narrated your side of the story. The older woman frowned, shifting her gaze from yours to the guilty person who had placed the tired expression upon your face in a matter of a day. The nurses did not allow visitors until today. Glaring at Spencer, she warned, “She could leave you, you know, for saying something like that.”
You smiled, shaking your head to wipe away the look of horror that dawned on his face at the realized consequences of his actions. When you caught him staring at your thermos, you held it up, “I brought soup, we could heat it up later if you’d like.”
Diane stuffed the last spoonful of casserole into his mouth and muttered, “I know when to leave.”
“Diane, there’s no need to—“
“I have an old coot who’s been calling me. I need to go yell at him anyways, and as for you,” she glared softly at her son, “I’ll deal with you later. Mother’s day, my ass. On these holidays, other mothers get flowers and chocolate, I have to jump onto a plane to see my kid who got himself infected by anthrax.”
When you were finally alone, Spencer held his hand out, waiting for you to come closer and take it. Meekly you approached him, allowing his bony hand to enclose around your small ones. He was so warm and gentle with the way he touched even your hand. Softly, he whispered: “I’m sorry I scared you…”
“Just sorry?” Spencer looked confused. “I thought I was never going to see you again.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
You were both thinking about the same thing but neither had the guts to say it. You sighed softly, closing your hand over his as Spencer rested his hand against your cheeks, touching your pale lips with his thumb. When he gave a smartass response, you lightly punched his shoulder to which he winced and pouted. Spencer stared at you with big puppy eyes, to which you said: “A few hours and you were as white as snow.”
“Actually, snow isn’t truly white—more like… transparent…” he corrected, touching the bare ring finger on his left hand. “I meant what I said.”
“You’re lying, you were delusional when you said it,” you protested.
Spencer blinked, “No, [your name], I was very clear-headed. I wanted to tell you how I felt in case it turned out for the worst. Marry me, [your name], I’ll make you very happy.”
“You already do, and I would have nothing more.”
Spencer took another bite,” Mom, I can feed myself…” He tried to steal the spoon from her when he saw you poke your head into the window. Excited, he waved at you and beckoned you and the thermos in your hand to enter the room. Spencer smiled widely at you until he saw the tired expression on your face that must have arisen from the stress. “Hi, [your name]…”
Diane repeated her disapproval towards her son’s recent actions when he had gotten into that anthrax incident, to which you merely laughed and narrated your side of the story. The older woman frowned, shifting her gaze from yours to the guilty person who had placed the tired expression upon your face in a matter of a day. The nurses did not allow visitors until today. Glaring at Spencer, she warned, “She could leave you, you know, for saying something like that.”
You smiled, shaking your head to wipe away the look of horror that dawned on his face at the realized consequences of his actions. When you caught him staring at your thermos, you held it up, “I brought soup, we could heat it up later if you’d like.”
Diane stuffed the last spoonful of casserole into his mouth and muttered, “I know when to leave.”
“Diane, there’s no need to—“
“I have an old coot who’s been calling me. I need to go yell at him anyways, and as for you,” she glared softly at her son, “I’ll deal with you later. Mother’s day, my ass. On these holidays, other mothers get flowers and chocolate, I have to jump onto a plane to see my kid who got himself infected by anthrax.”
When you were finally alone, Spencer held his hand out, waiting for you to come closer and take it. Meekly you approached him, allowing his bony hand to enclose around your small ones. He was so warm and gentle with the way he touched even your hand. Softly, he whispered: “I’m sorry I scared you…”
“Just sorry?” Spencer looked confused. “I thought I was never going to see you again.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
You were both thinking about the same thing but neither had the guts to say it. You sighed softly, closing your hand over his as Spencer rested his hand against your cheeks, touching your pale lips with his thumb. When he gave a smartass response, you lightly punched his shoulder to which he winced and pouted. Spencer stared at you with big puppy eyes, to which you said: “A few hours and you were as white as snow.”
“Actually, snow isn’t truly white—more like… transparent…” he corrected, touching the bare ring finger on his left hand. “I meant what I said.”
“You’re lying, you were delusional when you said it,” you protested.
Spencer blinked, “No, [your name], I was very clear-headed. I wanted to tell you how I felt in case it turned out for the worst. Marry me, [your name], I’ll make you very happy.”
“You already do, and I would have nothing more.”
26
Spencer paled at the light pink scratch on your neck. You were still unconscious and lying against the bed when he entered the room, gun held high. Hotchner came up behind him after finally catching up the younger BAU agent had broken down the door. Spencer Reid was on fire. As soon as he heard you scream, he broke away from his team. He couldn’t care less if they caught the unsub, he only wanted to see that you were alright.
The weasel responsible for your injuries was standing across from him, smirking at the pain that surfaced on Spencer’s face. He didn’t know who this man was, but he didn’t care either. The menacing smile on this man’s face remained even after Prentiss slammed him against the wall and handcuffed him. “We finally meet, Dr. Reid.”
Spencer walked past him to gather your unconscious body into his arms. The first angry expression that the team of BAU has ever seen appeared on the young genius’s face when he felt how cold your body was. “What do you want?”
“Why, what is most precious to you, of course,” he said so matter-of-factly. The unsub was a hypnotist who remained calm and collected even after he was caught, it was a surprise that he didn’t already hypnotize some members of the BAU, “I must say, she is quite the lovely girl. Can’t say she’ll remain that way after this meeting of ours…”
You woke up two days later, clueless as to where you were: a white room hooked onto IV’s and heart beat monitors. You were feeling incredibly hungry and weak and that the sunlight was glaring into your face did not help one bit. The coldness of the ring on your fingers was causing you to shiver. The body lying by your bed did not awake until you touched it. The man’s face stared at you in surprise before happiness overwhelmed him. “[your name], you’re awake… I was so worried.”
“I…” You stopped in mid-sentence from the pain on your neck. The skin there was burned and stinging when you touched it and that was all you could think of.
“Wait, don’t get up, I’ll get the doctor,” he rushed towards the door.
The pain had gone when you gripped his hand because curiosity has overtaken you. “Wait… who are you?”
The weasel responsible for your injuries was standing across from him, smirking at the pain that surfaced on Spencer’s face. He didn’t know who this man was, but he didn’t care either. The menacing smile on this man’s face remained even after Prentiss slammed him against the wall and handcuffed him. “We finally meet, Dr. Reid.”
Spencer walked past him to gather your unconscious body into his arms. The first angry expression that the team of BAU has ever seen appeared on the young genius’s face when he felt how cold your body was. “What do you want?”
“Why, what is most precious to you, of course,” he said so matter-of-factly. The unsub was a hypnotist who remained calm and collected even after he was caught, it was a surprise that he didn’t already hypnotize some members of the BAU, “I must say, she is quite the lovely girl. Can’t say she’ll remain that way after this meeting of ours…”
You woke up two days later, clueless as to where you were: a white room hooked onto IV’s and heart beat monitors. You were feeling incredibly hungry and weak and that the sunlight was glaring into your face did not help one bit. The coldness of the ring on your fingers was causing you to shiver. The body lying by your bed did not awake until you touched it. The man’s face stared at you in surprise before happiness overwhelmed him. “[your name], you’re awake… I was so worried.”
“I…” You stopped in mid-sentence from the pain on your neck. The skin there was burned and stinging when you touched it and that was all you could think of.
“Wait, don’t get up, I’ll get the doctor,” he rushed towards the door.
The pain had gone when you gripped his hand because curiosity has overtaken you. “Wait… who are you?”
27
This was certainly interesting…
JJ smiled suspiciously at Spencer who shifted back and forth while holding the file in his hands. You quirked an eyebrow, sending a questioning looking towards your boyfriend which went unnoticed while he walked towards the projector at the front of the room. The young genius licked his lips and greeted the BAU, “Good morning everyone… I’m glad that you’re able to make it to the briefing before we set out.”
You chuckled, unable to resist: “Wouldn’t be anywhere else, baby.”
Morgan snickered, retorting: “Get a room, guys.”
“Actually, we are in a room,” Spencer nodded with a grin, quite proud of himself that he had said the smartest thing. Morgan facepalmed himself, making the smile drop immediately: “Ahem… um, I’m taking over for JJ because as you can see…” he looked pointedly at the pregnant woman lounging on the couch that you and Rossi had brought in because Morgan was too busy “interrogating” an unsub.
“Okay, okay, start,” you shushed everyone, remember that Rossi and Hotchner were out of town and you probably should be mature and keep everyone in order.
“Alright.” Spencer cleared his throat and clicked the mouse to turn on the projector. “This briefing will be a short one and, oh, before we begin, [your name], will you marry me?”
JJ smiled suspiciously at Spencer who shifted back and forth while holding the file in his hands. You quirked an eyebrow, sending a questioning looking towards your boyfriend which went unnoticed while he walked towards the projector at the front of the room. The young genius licked his lips and greeted the BAU, “Good morning everyone… I’m glad that you’re able to make it to the briefing before we set out.”
You chuckled, unable to resist: “Wouldn’t be anywhere else, baby.”
Morgan snickered, retorting: “Get a room, guys.”
“Actually, we are in a room,” Spencer nodded with a grin, quite proud of himself that he had said the smartest thing. Morgan facepalmed himself, making the smile drop immediately: “Ahem… um, I’m taking over for JJ because as you can see…” he looked pointedly at the pregnant woman lounging on the couch that you and Rossi had brought in because Morgan was too busy “interrogating” an unsub.
“Okay, okay, start,” you shushed everyone, remember that Rossi and Hotchner were out of town and you probably should be mature and keep everyone in order.
“Alright.” Spencer cleared his throat and clicked the mouse to turn on the projector. “This briefing will be a short one and, oh, before we begin, [your name], will you marry me?”
28
“Hotch,” you called out as the older man walked by.
He stopped, turning around when you called his name again. Calmly, he responded to your rather loud voice: “What is it?”
“Did you happen to see a piece of paper in the briefing room?” The man stared at you, but the guilt of admitting that Garcia and you hadn’t been paying attention while he was at the front of the room being boss never surfaced on your face. You simply looked curious, and slightly frightened by something that was certainly not him. He could never figure out what you weren’t scared of him, but at least you closed cases.
“No,” he furrowed his eyebrow, jumping when you pointed at him in an accusatory manner. “What is it?”
“Your eye twitched.”
“What are you saying, [your name]?”
“Your eye twitches when you lie. You always furrow your eyebrows to hide it and you think that no one sees it because they are too scared of you.”
“I don’t know what you’re saying—“
“Don’t you dare pull that on me. you did something to that note and if you’re not going to tell me, I’ll find it myself!”
Without another word, you stomped out of the kitchen. No word could describe what you were feeling at the sight of your boyfriend holding up the bright yellow piece of paper. Smiling at you, Spencer greeted: “Missed you at lunch today. Did you have fun with Garcia?” When you nodded, he flipped the paper in front of you, “Looks like it’s a note from Hotch, I wonder what he wants.”
“From Hotch?” you muttered nervously, eyeing the man who was calmly sipping his coffee, “You got it from Hotch?” The man walked off to his room, looking as innocent as a wolf when you stared at the messy cursive which spelled Spencer’s name on the outside. It was similar to the one you always liked to forge when you were too busy to look for him all over America.
“It was laying on my desk when I got back,” he chuckled, opening the note: “I guess I shouldn’t have gone out to eat if—[your name], you want to marry me?”
He stopped, turning around when you called his name again. Calmly, he responded to your rather loud voice: “What is it?”
“Did you happen to see a piece of paper in the briefing room?” The man stared at you, but the guilt of admitting that Garcia and you hadn’t been paying attention while he was at the front of the room being boss never surfaced on your face. You simply looked curious, and slightly frightened by something that was certainly not him. He could never figure out what you weren’t scared of him, but at least you closed cases.
“No,” he furrowed his eyebrow, jumping when you pointed at him in an accusatory manner. “What is it?”
“Your eye twitched.”
“What are you saying, [your name]?”
“Your eye twitches when you lie. You always furrow your eyebrows to hide it and you think that no one sees it because they are too scared of you.”
“I don’t know what you’re saying—“
“Don’t you dare pull that on me. you did something to that note and if you’re not going to tell me, I’ll find it myself!”
Without another word, you stomped out of the kitchen. No word could describe what you were feeling at the sight of your boyfriend holding up the bright yellow piece of paper. Smiling at you, Spencer greeted: “Missed you at lunch today. Did you have fun with Garcia?” When you nodded, he flipped the paper in front of you, “Looks like it’s a note from Hotch, I wonder what he wants.”
“From Hotch?” you muttered nervously, eyeing the man who was calmly sipping his coffee, “You got it from Hotch?” The man walked off to his room, looking as innocent as a wolf when you stared at the messy cursive which spelled Spencer’s name on the outside. It was similar to the one you always liked to forge when you were too busy to look for him all over America.
“It was laying on my desk when I got back,” he chuckled, opening the note: “I guess I shouldn’t have gone out to eat if—[your name], you want to marry me?”
29
“Well, I guess…”
“Do you?”
“Of course I do, it’s just…”
“You said to Garcia that I took too long,” he recited the words from the note you had recently snatched out of his hand. His eyes shifted downwards, looking rather hurt.
“Damnit Spencer, I hate it when you memorize something after reading it at a thousand miles per hour. Of course I love you and I think we should go to the next step but that doesn’t matter to me if you don’t feel the same way,” you explained, holding his hand.
“How do you know I don’t feel the same?” he retorted, pulling a ring out of his pocket. “I bought this a few weeks ago, but I wanted it to be a surprise so I got rid of the box and… surprise, surprise, a few days ago at dinner—“
“That was when you wanted to go home all of a sudden…”
“—because I had lost the ring. It was in the laundry,” he grinned sheepishly.
You blushed, embarrassed and guilt-ridden by the contents of the note. “I see…”
Sensing that it was time, Spencer cleared his throat, gaining confidence at the bright pink on your face when he knelt down. Wolf whistles and cheers filled the room; you could almost feel Hotchner’s eyes burning into your back as he must be laughing maniacally in his office at how brilliant his plan had been. “[your name], will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
“Do you?”
“Of course I do, it’s just…”
“You said to Garcia that I took too long,” he recited the words from the note you had recently snatched out of his hand. His eyes shifted downwards, looking rather hurt.
“Damnit Spencer, I hate it when you memorize something after reading it at a thousand miles per hour. Of course I love you and I think we should go to the next step but that doesn’t matter to me if you don’t feel the same way,” you explained, holding his hand.
“How do you know I don’t feel the same?” he retorted, pulling a ring out of his pocket. “I bought this a few weeks ago, but I wanted it to be a surprise so I got rid of the box and… surprise, surprise, a few days ago at dinner—“
“That was when you wanted to go home all of a sudden…”
“—because I had lost the ring. It was in the laundry,” he grinned sheepishly.
You blushed, embarrassed and guilt-ridden by the contents of the note. “I see…”
Sensing that it was time, Spencer cleared his throat, gaining confidence at the bright pink on your face when he knelt down. Wolf whistles and cheers filled the room; you could almost feel Hotchner’s eyes burning into your back as he must be laughing maniacally in his office at how brilliant his plan had been. “[your name], will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
30
You beamed brightly at the man standing by the altar who was gleaming at your face. He thought you were beautiful in the white gown that his mother had lent you and you could see Jack skittering about with the rings despite his father’s stern stare. The priest smiled softly at the two of you when you final left your father’s side. Rossi, oddly enough after the little episode in the dressing room, was able to play the piano, looking more composed than ever.
To put it simply, it was your day.
“Now that the two parties are present…” The priest’s words faded away as you stared into your beloved’s eyes. Your future was standing right in front of you and you couldn’t wait to get out of there. “Will you, [your name], take Spencer Reid to be your lawfully wedded husband and vow to be with him for the rest of your life through sickness and health?”
You glanced over to your husband-to-be, receiving his smile with one of your own. You nodded excitedly, reciting: “Yes, I will take this man, Spencer Reid, to be the man I will spend the rest of my life with.”
“When I say your name, you will open your eyes.” His voice distorted from raspy echoes to a deeper one. “[your name].”
You opened your eyes, returning to the room of the new BAU counselor who was smiling at you. “Spencer Reid, huh? That’s definitely unexpected.”
“That’s not very nice of you, Irving,” you blushed, waving at the mentioned genius who looked away from the glass door as soon as he was caught staring.
To put it simply, it was your day.
“Now that the two parties are present…” The priest’s words faded away as you stared into your beloved’s eyes. Your future was standing right in front of you and you couldn’t wait to get out of there. “Will you, [your name], take Spencer Reid to be your lawfully wedded husband and vow to be with him for the rest of your life through sickness and health?”
You glanced over to your husband-to-be, receiving his smile with one of your own. You nodded excitedly, reciting: “Yes, I will take this man, Spencer Reid, to be the man I will spend the rest of my life with.”
“When I say your name, you will open your eyes.” His voice distorted from raspy echoes to a deeper one. “[your name].”
You opened your eyes, returning to the room of the new BAU counselor who was smiling at you. “Spencer Reid, huh? That’s definitely unexpected.”
“That’s not very nice of you, Irving,” you blushed, waving at the mentioned genius who looked away from the glass door as soon as he was caught staring.
31
“Can I open my eyes yet?” Spencer squeaked, keeping his eyes tight shut while you clipped away. It was perfect. You had no idea how you got him to sit down on that chair, but when he did, even his look of regret did not stir your sympathies. Happens when a hair stylist is dating a scientist. When you didn’t answer, he continued: “…[your name]?”
“Not yet, sweetie,” you murmured as your blades touched his forehead. Spencer jumped slightly when the coldness felt upon his forehead: “You have to sit still, you know. Otherwise, something’s going to cut your baby-soft face~”
He blushed, looking away from the mirror holding the reflections of the grins of the BAU members as they waited for him. “People are looking, you know…”
You giggled, clipping another strand of hair away: “What? We’re married. If they want to get on that plane, they’re going to have to wait.” And you matched Hotch’s response, glare and everything. Happens when the BAU unit chief is your brother.
“Not yet, sweetie,” you murmured as your blades touched his forehead. Spencer jumped slightly when the coldness felt upon his forehead: “You have to sit still, you know. Otherwise, something’s going to cut your baby-soft face~”
He blushed, looking away from the mirror holding the reflections of the grins of the BAU members as they waited for him. “People are looking, you know…”
You giggled, clipping another strand of hair away: “What? We’re married. If they want to get on that plane, they’re going to have to wait.” And you matched Hotch’s response, glare and everything. Happens when the BAU unit chief is your brother.
32
“I don’t know what I’d do without you…”
That voice haunted you every night ever since you left the hospital. Aaron Hotchner, that BAU agent, had been kind enough to escort you home, despite that he said it had been on someone else’s behalf. You rested your head against the pillow once more, trying to get back to sleep before you had to get up in two hours. The ring glinted under the moonlight streaming in. You couldn’t help but remember that the man who lived next to you (or was it across from?) had the same ring.
He would greet you every morning, though you would never be quick enough to return the greeting because you’d be reading your mail, and leave for work, whatever it was that he did. Sometimes you’d see him by the café across from the flowershop, though you were sure that he was a regular there since the people working there knew his order by heart: Black coffee, doused with sugar. Make it steaming hot, and add a lot of creamer. It was a wonder that he didn’t grow flabs of fat.
He had the same colored ring and even the stones which were embedded around the ring (green, which happened to be your favorite color) were identical. So identical that you wondered whether or not the engraving inside was the same: “Someday.”
At least, tomorrow you were taking the day off. According to your boss, she was going on vacation and despite that she needed someone to take care of the shop, she was closing it down anyways for the summer. The seeds, she explained, were too exotic to be cared for under the present conditions. Why she couldn’t just buy other seeds to plant, you didn’t understand. Either way, you appreciated the vacation.
Perhaps tomorrow you would catch him saying hello and perhaps you two would have a chat or something… You did, after all, have some curiosities about the way he tended to his hair every morning. That, you decided, would be the conversation starter.
That voice haunted you every night ever since you left the hospital. Aaron Hotchner, that BAU agent, had been kind enough to escort you home, despite that he said it had been on someone else’s behalf. You rested your head against the pillow once more, trying to get back to sleep before you had to get up in two hours. The ring glinted under the moonlight streaming in. You couldn’t help but remember that the man who lived next to you (or was it across from?) had the same ring.
He would greet you every morning, though you would never be quick enough to return the greeting because you’d be reading your mail, and leave for work, whatever it was that he did. Sometimes you’d see him by the café across from the flowershop, though you were sure that he was a regular there since the people working there knew his order by heart: Black coffee, doused with sugar. Make it steaming hot, and add a lot of creamer. It was a wonder that he didn’t grow flabs of fat.
He had the same colored ring and even the stones which were embedded around the ring (green, which happened to be your favorite color) were identical. So identical that you wondered whether or not the engraving inside was the same: “Someday.”
At least, tomorrow you were taking the day off. According to your boss, she was going on vacation and despite that she needed someone to take care of the shop, she was closing it down anyways for the summer. The seeds, she explained, were too exotic to be cared for under the present conditions. Why she couldn’t just buy other seeds to plant, you didn’t understand. Either way, you appreciated the vacation.
Perhaps tomorrow you would catch him saying hello and perhaps you two would have a chat or something… You did, after all, have some curiosities about the way he tended to his hair every morning. That, you decided, would be the conversation starter.
33
Well this certainly turned out differently. You had imagined it the other way around in your mind when you were working the plans out. Somehow, you liked it better this way, with the tables turned, that was. You grinned at Spencer, who was licking his chapped lips and avoiding your eyes. “Hey, baby,” you greeted while the scientist was trying to stand as far away from you as possible before you could do any more damage.
“[your name]…” he responded, eyeing the handcuffs binding you to the bed. He had no clue what overcame him. Maybe it was the white wine… it probably was the white wine, and definitely you taking advantage of his inability to hold alcohol. “That’s so not fair.”
“What’s so not fair?” you blinked innocently, “If anything I should be saying that. Look at you, you’re still fully dressed!” You eyed the slacks he still had on, imagining some invisible force pulling it down. Then you changed your mind out of jealousy and imagined that you were the one tugging on it.
“Stop imagining me naked!” he flushed, “I… I didn’t picture it to be like this.”
“Well, me neither,” you explained, “I pictured you being in these handcuffs and me not releasing you until you propose to me or something. Then we’ll have wild se—“
Spencer cut you off before you could wake the neighbors off: “I was going to propose to you anyways!” He continued rummaging the drawers, “Now I can’t find the keys…”
“Are you still proposing to me?” you asked curiously, obviously still shameless about your current very… naked situation. When your boyfriend threw you a look, you responded defensively, “Hey, Mr. Tipsy, I wasn’t the one giggling about handcuffing me. You were the one who said ‘[your name], I’m going to fu—‘”
“Well… you were the one who got me drunk,” he pouted.
Rolling your eyes, you moved aside, asking rather blatantly, “Well? Aren’t you going to come here?”
“[your name]…” he responded, eyeing the handcuffs binding you to the bed. He had no clue what overcame him. Maybe it was the white wine… it probably was the white wine, and definitely you taking advantage of his inability to hold alcohol. “That’s so not fair.”
“What’s so not fair?” you blinked innocently, “If anything I should be saying that. Look at you, you’re still fully dressed!” You eyed the slacks he still had on, imagining some invisible force pulling it down. Then you changed your mind out of jealousy and imagined that you were the one tugging on it.
“Stop imagining me naked!” he flushed, “I… I didn’t picture it to be like this.”
“Well, me neither,” you explained, “I pictured you being in these handcuffs and me not releasing you until you propose to me or something. Then we’ll have wild se—“
Spencer cut you off before you could wake the neighbors off: “I was going to propose to you anyways!” He continued rummaging the drawers, “Now I can’t find the keys…”
“Are you still proposing to me?” you asked curiously, obviously still shameless about your current very… naked situation. When your boyfriend threw you a look, you responded defensively, “Hey, Mr. Tipsy, I wasn’t the one giggling about handcuffing me. You were the one who said ‘[your name], I’m going to fu—‘”
“Well… you were the one who got me drunk,” he pouted.
Rolling your eyes, you moved aside, asking rather blatantly, “Well? Aren’t you going to come here?”
34
You grinned rather cheekily at the man sitting in front of him. His forehead was settled in his palm as he tried to absorb what you just narrated to him in great details. No, enormous details. You twiddled your thumb for a while until he asked: “Wait, so explain this to me again?”
“Aaron, how many times do I have to explain it?” Four, probably, being the protective older brother that he was. “Spencer and I are just going on a vacation.”
“For two weeks.” He looked deadpanned. You chuckled, nodding quite easily. Rolling his eyes, he started his lecture, “Just because I'm your older brother doesn't mean you can take advantage of my position and go on vacations, you know.”
“Well, you have my cell and you have Spencer's cell, you know how to reach us. Do you want me to put it on speed dial for you?” You reached for his phone, but your dear older brother kept it away, perhaps to protect the speed dial #1, his first girlfriend since Haley. “Well, if anything, we can just fly over from Hawaii, you guys are going to Alaska, right?”
“Two weeks,” he paled. Aaron couldn't believe he's letting his sister run off with some geek for two weeks. Despite that Spencer was quite the valuable asset to the team, he didn't feel quite--
“Fine, I'll take Jack with me,” you offered, “Not that I don't love my dear nephew... but you're paying for it if Spencer doesn't propose.”
“He's proposing to you? Well, then no, not yet,” Aaron decided. “You can go on vacation all you want once I'm done with him.”
“But--”
“No.” Your older brother's voice was firm and even though you were a glutton for challenge... you didn't want to challenge this guy. You could only hope for the best.
Oh, he has quite a bit in store for him, you thought as you exchanged a smile with your boyfriend.
“Aaron, how many times do I have to explain it?” Four, probably, being the protective older brother that he was. “Spencer and I are just going on a vacation.”
“For two weeks.” He looked deadpanned. You chuckled, nodding quite easily. Rolling his eyes, he started his lecture, “Just because I'm your older brother doesn't mean you can take advantage of my position and go on vacations, you know.”
“Well, you have my cell and you have Spencer's cell, you know how to reach us. Do you want me to put it on speed dial for you?” You reached for his phone, but your dear older brother kept it away, perhaps to protect the speed dial #1, his first girlfriend since Haley. “Well, if anything, we can just fly over from Hawaii, you guys are going to Alaska, right?”
“Two weeks,” he paled. Aaron couldn't believe he's letting his sister run off with some geek for two weeks. Despite that Spencer was quite the valuable asset to the team, he didn't feel quite--
“Fine, I'll take Jack with me,” you offered, “Not that I don't love my dear nephew... but you're paying for it if Spencer doesn't propose.”
“He's proposing to you? Well, then no, not yet,” Aaron decided. “You can go on vacation all you want once I'm done with him.”
“But--”
“No.” Your older brother's voice was firm and even though you were a glutton for challenge... you didn't want to challenge this guy. You could only hope for the best.
Oh, he has quite a bit in store for him, you thought as you exchanged a smile with your boyfriend.
35
“So Reid is a ladies’ man,” Morgan mused, leaning against the wall. This was information for him. He didn’t believe Garcia’s ranting until he saw it… and with Reid and you on the dance floor, he almost thought that he was dreaming.
“So it’s not one of that raunchy stuff,” Garcia spoke, “But if he’s got [your name] dancing in his arms, that’s pretty magical.”
Even if it were an undercover thing, you never dreamt of seeing this man waltz with you. Here you were thinking that you’d teach him a few moves or so, but here he was, guiding you along like he was born dancing. When asked about this particular hidden talent, he merely blushed and responded, “My mom tried to give me a social life by signing me up for competitions… but then she gave up.”
“Ah” was all you could say. After a moment, you squeaked, “I daresay you are quite a talented dancer. What made you give that up?”
“I never found the right dance partner,” he shrugged. “The girls were too…”
“Shallow?” you laughed. Spencer lit up at the word, but when he realized how he sounded; the scientist flushed and remained silent. “That’s so like you, Spencer.”
“Is that a uh, bad thing?” He furrowed his eyebrows, shifting his hand further up your waist when he was finally conscious of how low it was… not that you minded at all, of course.
“Not all the time,” you remarked, “And when were you going to tell me about this? This dancing business, I mean.”
“I didn’t see the point… and the time never came up,” he commented. “Until now, I guess. I didn’t know we’d be dancing or anything. Hotch said we’d be watching someone…”
“We’re doing field work, partner,” you grinned. Waving at Morgan and Garcia, you leaned closer to whisper in his ears, “I bet they’re talking about us.”
“Why would they be talking about us?” he asked, looking genuinely confused. You blinked. Was this guy serious?
“Gee, I don’t know, Mr. I-never-told-anyone-that-I-could-dance. Gosh, I don’t know what’s going to happen to you,” you muttered, laughing quietly, “Tell you what, partner, since we’re so close and all, if within a year, you don’t get a girlfriend, I’ll volunteer.”
“…really?” he blushed. You narrowed your eyes slightly; the gears were already turning inside of his head. “…thank you.”
Needless to say, within a year, Spencer asked you out on a date. Within another year, he bought a velvet box to your apartment for your first anniversary.
“So it’s not one of that raunchy stuff,” Garcia spoke, “But if he’s got [your name] dancing in his arms, that’s pretty magical.”
Even if it were an undercover thing, you never dreamt of seeing this man waltz with you. Here you were thinking that you’d teach him a few moves or so, but here he was, guiding you along like he was born dancing. When asked about this particular hidden talent, he merely blushed and responded, “My mom tried to give me a social life by signing me up for competitions… but then she gave up.”
“Ah” was all you could say. After a moment, you squeaked, “I daresay you are quite a talented dancer. What made you give that up?”
“I never found the right dance partner,” he shrugged. “The girls were too…”
“Shallow?” you laughed. Spencer lit up at the word, but when he realized how he sounded; the scientist flushed and remained silent. “That’s so like you, Spencer.”
“Is that a uh, bad thing?” He furrowed his eyebrows, shifting his hand further up your waist when he was finally conscious of how low it was… not that you minded at all, of course.
“Not all the time,” you remarked, “And when were you going to tell me about this? This dancing business, I mean.”
“I didn’t see the point… and the time never came up,” he commented. “Until now, I guess. I didn’t know we’d be dancing or anything. Hotch said we’d be watching someone…”
“We’re doing field work, partner,” you grinned. Waving at Morgan and Garcia, you leaned closer to whisper in his ears, “I bet they’re talking about us.”
“Why would they be talking about us?” he asked, looking genuinely confused. You blinked. Was this guy serious?
“Gee, I don’t know, Mr. I-never-told-anyone-that-I-could-dance. Gosh, I don’t know what’s going to happen to you,” you muttered, laughing quietly, “Tell you what, partner, since we’re so close and all, if within a year, you don’t get a girlfriend, I’ll volunteer.”
“…really?” he blushed. You narrowed your eyes slightly; the gears were already turning inside of his head. “…thank you.”
Needless to say, within a year, Spencer asked you out on a date. Within another year, he bought a velvet box to your apartment for your first anniversary.
36
Spencer might as well die of starvation. He has been staring at that piece of strawberry since god-knows-when and you grinning at him didn't help his hunger at all. When asked if he wanted some of it, he stubbornly shook his head, determined to stay off the sweet delights until you resign your mission.
It wasn't working very well.
Generally, when such boycotts would be going on, there would be something that the boycotted want from the boycotters. In this case, you wanted a particular something that Spencer couldn't afford at the moment, despite that he would LOVE to give it to you. God-knows-when he'd get over his fear of bringing a psychopath into the world with a genius brain similar to his, but at the moment, his patience was thinning very nicely.
Another thing about successful boycotts would be a substitute. The Americans back in the Revolutionary era remembered just in the nick of time that they must have a provisional government if they were going to kick the Brits out of their homeland. For Spencer, he had food. Keyword: had. After three days, he came home to find the fridge empty of any ingredients whatsoever save the strawberries that would entail his surrender. He made note to buy some more but found that such efforts would be useless. You were the one who made the bread in the house and God forbid that you should ever allow him any other means to survive. When begging Morgan for a piece of his burger, the agent simply held it out of his reach and said “Man, just give her what she wants” because he did not understand the gravity of the situation. Spencer had a suspicion that your glares towards the older man had something to do with his hesitance to share his food. Everyone else, being adults that they were, vowed to stay out of the fight.
Now all he could do was wait. Perhaps he'd wait until he starved to the point of collapse. Then you'd have to take him to the hospital, where they will feed him nasty food, but beggars can't be choosers.
“What's wrong, Spencer?” you asked smugly, hearing his stomach growl, “Are you hungry, baby?”
“Actually, yes,” he answered quite politely.
Picking up the chocolate-covered strawberry, you held it up, “You want some food?” Oh such an innocent question, but Spencer knew, oh he knew, that it had more insidious meanings.
“Free food?” he swallowed.
“Baby, nothing in the world is free,” you shrugged. “But tell you what, tonight, I'll be nice. Here, have some strawberries.”
Spencer gave in immediately. The redness of such fruits filled his senses and the sweetness flooded into his mouth, drawing a sigh from his lips. He did not, however, notice the devious little smile dancing on your lips. Needless to say, our scientist realized the truth a bit too late when you chirped: “You're going to need your strength for tonight~”
It wasn't working very well.
Generally, when such boycotts would be going on, there would be something that the boycotted want from the boycotters. In this case, you wanted a particular something that Spencer couldn't afford at the moment, despite that he would LOVE to give it to you. God-knows-when he'd get over his fear of bringing a psychopath into the world with a genius brain similar to his, but at the moment, his patience was thinning very nicely.
Another thing about successful boycotts would be a substitute. The Americans back in the Revolutionary era remembered just in the nick of time that they must have a provisional government if they were going to kick the Brits out of their homeland. For Spencer, he had food. Keyword: had. After three days, he came home to find the fridge empty of any ingredients whatsoever save the strawberries that would entail his surrender. He made note to buy some more but found that such efforts would be useless. You were the one who made the bread in the house and God forbid that you should ever allow him any other means to survive. When begging Morgan for a piece of his burger, the agent simply held it out of his reach and said “Man, just give her what she wants” because he did not understand the gravity of the situation. Spencer had a suspicion that your glares towards the older man had something to do with his hesitance to share his food. Everyone else, being adults that they were, vowed to stay out of the fight.
Now all he could do was wait. Perhaps he'd wait until he starved to the point of collapse. Then you'd have to take him to the hospital, where they will feed him nasty food, but beggars can't be choosers.
“What's wrong, Spencer?” you asked smugly, hearing his stomach growl, “Are you hungry, baby?”
“Actually, yes,” he answered quite politely.
Picking up the chocolate-covered strawberry, you held it up, “You want some food?” Oh such an innocent question, but Spencer knew, oh he knew, that it had more insidious meanings.
“Free food?” he swallowed.
“Baby, nothing in the world is free,” you shrugged. “But tell you what, tonight, I'll be nice. Here, have some strawberries.”
Spencer gave in immediately. The redness of such fruits filled his senses and the sweetness flooded into his mouth, drawing a sigh from his lips. He did not, however, notice the devious little smile dancing on your lips. Needless to say, our scientist realized the truth a bit too late when you chirped: “You're going to need your strength for tonight~”
37
Spencer opened his eyes and sighed softly. No hangover, fortunately. He was expecting some kind of pain after Garcia's birthday party yesterday. The lady demanded so much of poor Spencer. Three shots of tequila? He swore that his throat was on fire before he even picked up the tiny glass cups.
He even had the strangest dream ever!
Someone was biting his shoulder and that made him move faster. What was he actually doing? He was pushing against something? Pulling? Wait a minute, he was doing work? While drunk?! Spencer paled, hoping he wasn't in public while doing so; the justice system would have his ass. Then again, after looking around the familiar surroundings, he decided that he was safe.
He remember burying his face into a flood of roses, grunting because he was... suffocating? Well, that couldn't be right. Spencer liked roses, at least he sent them to his mother every Mother's Day. He furrowed his eyebrows, shifting only to wince at some invisible bruise on his... crotch? What the... GOODNESS, HE WAS NAKED!
He sat up immediately, scanning the room while his brain was putting everything together. Now it started to hurt. Yep, there was that hangover. His throat felt very dry and when he licked his lips, there was something very different about the way he did it. Spencer wasn't quite sure... maybe he changed the way he licked his lips? In one day? He was sure that it took twenty-eight days to develop a habit.
Inhale, Spencer, inhale. Okay, now exhale. When he did it, he tried to remember. SEX. Then he started hyperventilating. He was having sex with someone. [your name]'s going to kill him. Two weeks before their wedding and he was already unfaithful. He wanted to kill himself when he saw the unfamiliar clothing. Soft skin, silky hair, that—What is he thinking?! At a time like this?!
He hoped that his fiancee wasn't already home. He sprinted towards the kitchen after he managed to get his pants on. Before he could shout anything stupid, his heart dropped immediately at the sight of the girl in front of him, wearing HIS shirt. “Morning, Spencer,” [your name] greeted rather casually, tiptoeing to get the frying pan and giving him quite a view of her ass with a... bite mark?
“You're... here,” he looked around for any stranger, in case [your name] wasn't playing some cruel trick on him before she dumped him.
She turned around to give him a strange look and Spencer's eyes (and something else) nearly bulged out at the fact that the shirt wasn't in any way buttoned. “Well, I live here, of course. Hungry?”
“Ye-yes,” he answered obediently. Clearing his throat, he managed to rasp, “Please. So... I was thinking of calling in sick today.”
Throwing him a rather devious smile, she chirped, “I already did~”
He even had the strangest dream ever!
Someone was biting his shoulder and that made him move faster. What was he actually doing? He was pushing against something? Pulling? Wait a minute, he was doing work? While drunk?! Spencer paled, hoping he wasn't in public while doing so; the justice system would have his ass. Then again, after looking around the familiar surroundings, he decided that he was safe.
He remember burying his face into a flood of roses, grunting because he was... suffocating? Well, that couldn't be right. Spencer liked roses, at least he sent them to his mother every Mother's Day. He furrowed his eyebrows, shifting only to wince at some invisible bruise on his... crotch? What the... GOODNESS, HE WAS NAKED!
He sat up immediately, scanning the room while his brain was putting everything together. Now it started to hurt. Yep, there was that hangover. His throat felt very dry and when he licked his lips, there was something very different about the way he did it. Spencer wasn't quite sure... maybe he changed the way he licked his lips? In one day? He was sure that it took twenty-eight days to develop a habit.
Inhale, Spencer, inhale. Okay, now exhale. When he did it, he tried to remember. SEX. Then he started hyperventilating. He was having sex with someone. [your name]'s going to kill him. Two weeks before their wedding and he was already unfaithful. He wanted to kill himself when he saw the unfamiliar clothing. Soft skin, silky hair, that—What is he thinking?! At a time like this?!
He hoped that his fiancee wasn't already home. He sprinted towards the kitchen after he managed to get his pants on. Before he could shout anything stupid, his heart dropped immediately at the sight of the girl in front of him, wearing HIS shirt. “Morning, Spencer,” [your name] greeted rather casually, tiptoeing to get the frying pan and giving him quite a view of her ass with a... bite mark?
“You're... here,” he looked around for any stranger, in case [your name] wasn't playing some cruel trick on him before she dumped him.
She turned around to give him a strange look and Spencer's eyes (and something else) nearly bulged out at the fact that the shirt wasn't in any way buttoned. “Well, I live here, of course. Hungry?”
“Ye-yes,” he answered obediently. Clearing his throat, he managed to rasp, “Please. So... I was thinking of calling in sick today.”
Throwing him a rather devious smile, she chirped, “I already did~”
38
“Spencer Reid, right after we are done with this SHIT—“
“[your name], it’s not good for the baby to hear cursing—“
“—I am going home and I’m going to file a divorce and I’m going to put up ten fucking restraining order against you and I’m going to call your mother—“
“—I love you, I love you, I love you—“
“—I hate you, I hate you, I hate you—“
“—H-honey, you might want to loosen your grip, m-my bones feel like they’re f-fusing together—“
“Don’t you ‘honey’ me! Oh god, when is it going to be over?!”
“[your name], it’s not good for the baby to hear cursing—“
“—I am going home and I’m going to file a divorce and I’m going to put up ten fucking restraining order against you and I’m going to call your mother—“
“—I love you, I love you, I love you—“
“—I hate you, I hate you, I hate you—“
“—H-honey, you might want to loosen your grip, m-my bones feel like they’re f-fusing together—“
“Don’t you ‘honey’ me! Oh god, when is it going to be over?!”
39
“That was hilarious,” you laughed as you walked out of the theatre, hand-in-hand with Spencer. The Backup Plan had you cracking up quite a bit.
Spencer chuckled, shrugging as he said, “Wouldn’t it have been easier for her to adopt? She wouldn’t have to go through the pains and whatnot.”
“Well, of course it would be easier, but I don’t think that was the point. She probably wanted to go through the process, though I can’t fathom why… it seems so… complicated.” You shuddered, thinking about a particular birthing scene that had Spencer confused and you disturbed.
“Well, it’s actually not too complicated a process if you overlook at the chemical breakdown of the food and how the nutrients are distributed between the mother and the child in the course of nine months. While the movie seems to exaggerate the simplicity of the period, I do think it’s rather fascinating how nine months can actually create a living, breathing… human being,” he explained. Suddenly he realized something. “You don’t want kids?” Spencer asked, sounding slightly disappointed.
You pursed your lips, giving it a bit more thought: “Well, they’re… okay, when they’re asleep. I remember having to stay with my sister when she just had her kid… it was a big pain. Nine months is a long time and if you’re unlucky, they end up being twins. Why? Do you want kids?”
“It’s only natural,” Spencer mused, “Sooner or later, a married couple will conceive after lovemaking.” When you blushed, Spencer swallowed, realizing what he just said. “Well… if you want to marry me, that is.”
“Of course I do,” you stated, as though the truth was plain as day, “Who wouldn’t want to marry you?”
Spencer chuckled, shrugging as he said, “Wouldn’t it have been easier for her to adopt? She wouldn’t have to go through the pains and whatnot.”
“Well, of course it would be easier, but I don’t think that was the point. She probably wanted to go through the process, though I can’t fathom why… it seems so… complicated.” You shuddered, thinking about a particular birthing scene that had Spencer confused and you disturbed.
“Well, it’s actually not too complicated a process if you overlook at the chemical breakdown of the food and how the nutrients are distributed between the mother and the child in the course of nine months. While the movie seems to exaggerate the simplicity of the period, I do think it’s rather fascinating how nine months can actually create a living, breathing… human being,” he explained. Suddenly he realized something. “You don’t want kids?” Spencer asked, sounding slightly disappointed.
You pursed your lips, giving it a bit more thought: “Well, they’re… okay, when they’re asleep. I remember having to stay with my sister when she just had her kid… it was a big pain. Nine months is a long time and if you’re unlucky, they end up being twins. Why? Do you want kids?”
“It’s only natural,” Spencer mused, “Sooner or later, a married couple will conceive after lovemaking.” When you blushed, Spencer swallowed, realizing what he just said. “Well… if you want to marry me, that is.”
“Of course I do,” you stated, as though the truth was plain as day, “Who wouldn’t want to marry you?”
40
“Once upon a time, there was a little girl named [your name] who stumbled upon this place called the Land of Candy on her way home from her grandmother’s house. There, she met a handsome and incredibly smart wizard named Spencer Reid who can identify any type of candy by their appearances, and sometimes, even taste! So he welcomed her into his home, offering to teach her the way to such a lifestyle, until the evil witch Lila came upon them. She wasn’t evil by nature, oh no she was not! It was simply out of jealousy that she felt for [your name] because she used to have a crush on the wizard Spencer Reid. After they talked it over with her, she understood and left the Land of Candy for another place of her own. It was said that she met another man with whom she fell in love and live happily ever after. And with these two, you can only guess that they ended up in the same way: happily ever after. And so, my little chickies,” Garcia grinned and waved at Spencer and you who had appeared in the doorway, “The story ends yet again.”
“Penelope, Penelope! How did mommy stumble into the Land of Candy?” the little girl with curly brown hair asked frantically, as if her life depended on the answer.
“Well, Tara—“
The boy rolled his eyes at her younger sister as if the answer had already been mapped out in his head and there were other important things at hand: “Penelope, Penelope! What type of candy can you find there in the Land of Candy?”
“Stephen—“
“Penelope, Penelope—“ The toothy grin of the youngest flashed at the blond woman, who smiled apologetically at the three kids.
“Stanley, come here,” you said, picking him up slowly. “You kids leave Penelope alone or she won’t read stories to you anymore.” Spencer grinned; it was just like his wife to know how to get the kids to calm down. “Garcia, you can have anything you want from my lab this week. Beakers, vials, flasks—“
“Yea, yea,” the computer geek chuckled, clearly having no immediate need for science equipment, “Just drop them here next week so I can show them how to program. Stephen’s been asking about it.”
Spencer patted his son on the head, clearly proud of how the boy inherited his inquisitive nature. “And what do you want to do, Tara?”
The three-year-old curled her arms around her daddy’s neck so he could pick her up. When she was high up in the air, she pointed at the little box that you had helped her with earlier in the month filled with trees and sand and no doubt, other dubious things that Spencer didn’t want to know about, “I’m going to take care of my little people farm!”
“Penelope, Penelope! How did mommy stumble into the Land of Candy?” the little girl with curly brown hair asked frantically, as if her life depended on the answer.
“Well, Tara—“
The boy rolled his eyes at her younger sister as if the answer had already been mapped out in his head and there were other important things at hand: “Penelope, Penelope! What type of candy can you find there in the Land of Candy?”
“Stephen—“
“Penelope, Penelope—“ The toothy grin of the youngest flashed at the blond woman, who smiled apologetically at the three kids.
“Stanley, come here,” you said, picking him up slowly. “You kids leave Penelope alone or she won’t read stories to you anymore.” Spencer grinned; it was just like his wife to know how to get the kids to calm down. “Garcia, you can have anything you want from my lab this week. Beakers, vials, flasks—“
“Yea, yea,” the computer geek chuckled, clearly having no immediate need for science equipment, “Just drop them here next week so I can show them how to program. Stephen’s been asking about it.”
Spencer patted his son on the head, clearly proud of how the boy inherited his inquisitive nature. “And what do you want to do, Tara?”
The three-year-old curled her arms around her daddy’s neck so he could pick her up. When she was high up in the air, she pointed at the little box that you had helped her with earlier in the month filled with trees and sand and no doubt, other dubious things that Spencer didn’t want to know about, “I’m going to take care of my little people farm!”
41
You were starting to have second thoughts about what you did, despite how angry you were feeling at the moment. The fourteen-year-old boy in front of you flashed about a thousand faces a minute after you generously wasted your coffee on his hair. Shock, anger, embarrassment, you name it, he showed it.
“Well?” you managed. You didn’t know why you even bothered, he was the one who marched into the café and demanded that you opened up the store like he owned it. Your morning wasn’t off to a great start, considering you didn’t have a chance to start it thanks to the damn math project the teacher assigned the night before. “Happy now?”
“I-I-I-NO!” he shouted out of anger, and partially embarrassment from the look on his face. “That was highly unnecessary.”
“It’s a Monday, get over it,” you chided, walking past him to grab your backpack, “I gave you what you wanted, I think it’s about time you leave.” Suddenly the kid did something weird. You raised an eyebrow at the way his shaggy hair shook while his shoulders bobbed up and down. From the way he was moving his lips, you swore that he was some kind of voodoo doctor. “What’s wrong with you?”
Normally you’d ignore him and get on with your day, but today was different. You never noticed his shaggy-haired, flannel-wearing, calculator-and-dictionary-and-thesaurus-and-encyclopedia-carrying kid sitting at the back of your parent’s café. Today, unfortunately, he made himself noticeable by standing in front of the store like a creep until you came out and asked him what he wanted. When you simply told him that the café was closed, the kid freaked, demanding that he needed some coffee for his mid-term exam. You were sure that he was pulling some bull on you, since he looked about your age, so you poured coffee on him.
He walked off, muttering something along the lines of “taming” and “marry” and “wife.” Your ears perked up when you remarked, “What was that? Trying to marry me?”
He sputtered, responding indignantly, “For your information, I was trying to say that only people who are good at taming shrews like yourself would marry you, but then they wouldn’t because you’re the worst of them all! No one would want you for a wife.”
“Oh really?” you raised an eyebrow, “And I care… because?”
He was obviously socially inept. You can see the wheels turning in his head, trying to think of an adequate comeback. “I-I-I-I-I don’t care! If I end up marrying you, it’d be because I’m doing you a favor!”
“Hah! What makes you think I’ll LET you?” Well, that certainly brought him to a stop.
“Well?” you managed. You didn’t know why you even bothered, he was the one who marched into the café and demanded that you opened up the store like he owned it. Your morning wasn’t off to a great start, considering you didn’t have a chance to start it thanks to the damn math project the teacher assigned the night before. “Happy now?”
“I-I-I-NO!” he shouted out of anger, and partially embarrassment from the look on his face. “That was highly unnecessary.”
“It’s a Monday, get over it,” you chided, walking past him to grab your backpack, “I gave you what you wanted, I think it’s about time you leave.” Suddenly the kid did something weird. You raised an eyebrow at the way his shaggy hair shook while his shoulders bobbed up and down. From the way he was moving his lips, you swore that he was some kind of voodoo doctor. “What’s wrong with you?”
Normally you’d ignore him and get on with your day, but today was different. You never noticed his shaggy-haired, flannel-wearing, calculator-and-dictionary-and-thesaurus-and-encyclopedia-carrying kid sitting at the back of your parent’s café. Today, unfortunately, he made himself noticeable by standing in front of the store like a creep until you came out and asked him what he wanted. When you simply told him that the café was closed, the kid freaked, demanding that he needed some coffee for his mid-term exam. You were sure that he was pulling some bull on you, since he looked about your age, so you poured coffee on him.
He walked off, muttering something along the lines of “taming” and “marry” and “wife.” Your ears perked up when you remarked, “What was that? Trying to marry me?”
He sputtered, responding indignantly, “For your information, I was trying to say that only people who are good at taming shrews like yourself would marry you, but then they wouldn’t because you’re the worst of them all! No one would want you for a wife.”
“Oh really?” you raised an eyebrow, “And I care… because?”
He was obviously socially inept. You can see the wheels turning in his head, trying to think of an adequate comeback. “I-I-I-I-I don’t care! If I end up marrying you, it’d be because I’m doing you a favor!”
“Hah! What makes you think I’ll LET you?” Well, that certainly brought him to a stop.
42
Hotch agreed to his request! I mused upon the situation for another second before pulling the velvet box out of my pocket. It was, as I thought, like a dream come true. Today, instead of Chance Matthews, would be the day she called me Spencer Reid. Initially I worried about how she would react to the news; Morgan had pointed out that many women did not like being lied to. Then again, [your name] was very reasonable. As a fellow scientist, she would, no doubt, assess the situation from every possible angle before allowing her emotions to enter into the situation.
The phone rang and I picked it up, relishing in the sound of her voice. I could barely keep the excitement out of my own when I asked, “What’s going on?”
“Nothing, are you coming? I’m almost done with the food,” she responded. Sensing my excitement, she asked, “What’s up with you, Dr. Matthews?”
He opened his mouth to correct her, but did not say anything. That would change later. “I’m coming in a bit. Wait for me.”
The phone rang and I picked it up, relishing in the sound of her voice. I could barely keep the excitement out of my own when I asked, “What’s going on?”
“Nothing, are you coming? I’m almost done with the food,” she responded. Sensing my excitement, she asked, “What’s up with you, Dr. Matthews?”
He opened his mouth to correct her, but did not say anything. That would change later. “I’m coming in a bit. Wait for me.”
43
Spencer's day started off at three o'clock. In the afternoon. Indeed, such was rare, even for him. Even this young genius cannot fathom why or how he had missed his usual wake up time by, oh, well, nine hours. When his thoughts went back to yesterday, or rather, tried to go back to yesterday, he found he cannot remember what happened. Bewildered, he picked up his phone to check the time again, in case he had been delirious enough to believe his atomic alarm clock. Surely enough, it was three o'clock in the afternoon, and young Spencer Reid had five missed calls.
Within an hour, he was at the BAU headquarters in Quantico, Virginia, ducking his head so that no one would notice his tardiness. Unfortunately, such did not happen his way. Morgan let out a whoop from across the room, drawing everyone's attention to you. “Birthday boy!” the new unit chief cheered. “Awake already? I thought you were gonna call in sick or something.”
“Why would you think that?” Okay, even if he HAD been late, there would be no reason for him to call in sick. What a strange man.
Before he could react any further, he found the ground beneath him slip and his bottom landed on something soft and cushy. “Alright you, spill.” Before him, the fiery blue eyes of Garcia twinkled quite brightly, as though she had a hint to what might have happened yesterday. When he offered no intelligent answer, she retorted, “Hey, don't tell me those margaritas went to waste!”
“There was alcohol involved?” he asked, quite exasperated at this news.
“Don't try to change the subject,” Morgan interjected. “How did it go with [your name]?”
[your name]? Hotch's secretary? What did she have to do with anything? His eyes met with hers and she immediately looked away, cheeks tinted pink and looking very embarrassed. Oh no, what did he do? Garcia didn't miss a beat, it seemed. The mischievous smirk on her face revealed many possibilities about what might have happened the night before, “Uh oh, you guys did something bad, didn't you? If she gets pregnant, you're gonna have to marry the poor girl!”
Within an hour, he was at the BAU headquarters in Quantico, Virginia, ducking his head so that no one would notice his tardiness. Unfortunately, such did not happen his way. Morgan let out a whoop from across the room, drawing everyone's attention to you. “Birthday boy!” the new unit chief cheered. “Awake already? I thought you were gonna call in sick or something.”
“Why would you think that?” Okay, even if he HAD been late, there would be no reason for him to call in sick. What a strange man.
Before he could react any further, he found the ground beneath him slip and his bottom landed on something soft and cushy. “Alright you, spill.” Before him, the fiery blue eyes of Garcia twinkled quite brightly, as though she had a hint to what might have happened yesterday. When he offered no intelligent answer, she retorted, “Hey, don't tell me those margaritas went to waste!”
“There was alcohol involved?” he asked, quite exasperated at this news.
“Don't try to change the subject,” Morgan interjected. “How did it go with [your name]?”
[your name]? Hotch's secretary? What did she have to do with anything? His eyes met with hers and she immediately looked away, cheeks tinted pink and looking very embarrassed. Oh no, what did he do? Garcia didn't miss a beat, it seemed. The mischievous smirk on her face revealed many possibilities about what might have happened the night before, “Uh oh, you guys did something bad, didn't you? If she gets pregnant, you're gonna have to marry the poor girl!”
44
“What did you just say?” you glared at him.
When he tried to move closer to you, you flinched, taking three steps back for every step he took, “[your name], my real name is--”
“I know what you said! It was a rhetorical question!” It wasn't helping. You didn't know why you were so emotional. You already knew something was up with the guy when he didn't respond to his name half of the time. At first you thought that he went by another name, but soon after, that doubt faded and you were expecting such news from him. “Get out of my house.”
“[your name], I--”
“GET OUT!”
“Listen to me--”
“GO!” You ran into your room, screamed into your pillow, and waited until the front door closed before you allowed the tears to flow. “What have you done to me?”
When he tried to move closer to you, you flinched, taking three steps back for every step he took, “[your name], my real name is--”
“I know what you said! It was a rhetorical question!” It wasn't helping. You didn't know why you were so emotional. You already knew something was up with the guy when he didn't respond to his name half of the time. At first you thought that he went by another name, but soon after, that doubt faded and you were expecting such news from him. “Get out of my house.”
“[your name], I--”
“GET OUT!”
“Listen to me--”
“GO!” You ran into your room, screamed into your pillow, and waited until the front door closed before you allowed the tears to flow. “What have you done to me?”
45
In the middle of lunch, you found yourself observing the guy once in a while. He had a haircut and yesterday you didn't have a chance to look at it... because you were looking at something else. You shuddered in horror at the memory of last night. Never again, you promised, never again.
You jumped slightly when the door slammed against the walls, but he did not release your lips. Instead, Spencer pulled you tightly against his chest as he maneuvered into the room, kicking the front door of his apartment shut in the process. You moaned against his lips when he grounded his hips against yours. Everything was happening so quickly, and you had barely given him your name an hour earlier.
He was definitely a different man under the influence of alcohol, you noted when he tugged the hem of your shirt so you could hold your arms up for him to pull it over your head. He pulled back briefly as his glazed eyes skimmed over your bra-covered chest. Suddenly you were beginning to feel self conscious. Before you could pull your arms up to cover yourself, he grabbed it again, pulling it so your fingers would be laced around the back of his neck while he carried you into his room.
The clothes were burning your skin, it felt like, and both of you were dying to rid of them. The buttons slipped out of their places quickly and soon, Spencer was pressed against you. While his lips burned your skin, your ears picked up something other than his groans. “Spencer...” you purred.
“Say it again...” he whispered.
“Spencer...” Footsteps. They were outside his door. “Someone... outside...”
“Someone...?” Slightly frustrated, he dragged his lips away from your neck. Before you could say anything, the knob squeaked and the door opened, letting the hideous light flood into the room. You screamed when you saw who it was.
You groaned again, putting your face in your hands as you tried, for the thousandth time, perhaps, to erase the image from your head. You had no idea that Rossi was Spencer's roommate and that he walked around in his underwear at night.
You jumped slightly when the door slammed against the walls, but he did not release your lips. Instead, Spencer pulled you tightly against his chest as he maneuvered into the room, kicking the front door of his apartment shut in the process. You moaned against his lips when he grounded his hips against yours. Everything was happening so quickly, and you had barely given him your name an hour earlier.
He was definitely a different man under the influence of alcohol, you noted when he tugged the hem of your shirt so you could hold your arms up for him to pull it over your head. He pulled back briefly as his glazed eyes skimmed over your bra-covered chest. Suddenly you were beginning to feel self conscious. Before you could pull your arms up to cover yourself, he grabbed it again, pulling it so your fingers would be laced around the back of his neck while he carried you into his room.
The clothes were burning your skin, it felt like, and both of you were dying to rid of them. The buttons slipped out of their places quickly and soon, Spencer was pressed against you. While his lips burned your skin, your ears picked up something other than his groans. “Spencer...” you purred.
“Say it again...” he whispered.
“Spencer...” Footsteps. They were outside his door. “Someone... outside...”
“Someone...?” Slightly frustrated, he dragged his lips away from your neck. Before you could say anything, the knob squeaked and the door opened, letting the hideous light flood into the room. You screamed when you saw who it was.
You groaned again, putting your face in your hands as you tried, for the thousandth time, perhaps, to erase the image from your head. You had no idea that Rossi was Spencer's roommate and that he walked around in his underwear at night.
46
Inhale. Exhale.
You didn’t know when it became an addiction, but it did. Actually, it was a necessity. You didn’t think you could live another day without it. Without these… addictions, you noted with a wince. You didn’t intend to like it so much. Moderations, you told yourself, moderations when no one was paying attention. That was the safest. At first, it was only a little bit, then it got worse… and worse… and worse.
Inhale. Exhale.
“And so… I was thinking you should move in with me next week before we start the wedding plans…” Spencer’s voice. Ah, how sweet the sound… but what was even sweeter… Inhale. Exhale. “So what... you think?"
You lost track of what he was saying while inhaling and exhaling. Uh oh, that was a bit one, you hoped he didn’t hear it.
“[your name]?” he stopped suddenly. You felt his warm breath on the side of your cheek that wasn’t planted on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Inhale. Exhale. What? Did he say something? “…huh? What?”
“Sounded like you were um, sleepy,” he noted. Quite accurately, you added.
“Oh, goodness, no, Spencer. Continue…” You waved him off.
Then he did the darnest thing ever. “Well, what do you think about the plans?”
What plans? Uh oh, you didn’t like being caught—“Well… they’re fine.”
“Great, then I’ll stop by your place next week after work,” he chirped.
Huh? “Stopping by?” you furrowed your eyebrows.
“Oh, well I thought you’d like some help,” he muttered, seemingly discouraged by your eyebrow-furrowing. “I wouldn’t mind helping… though I’m sure that I’ll be less than useful when it comes to moving the sofas.”
Ohhh, moving in. Right. Okay, resume inhaling and exhaling. “Sure. You should come,” you mumbled.
“Alright…” he relaxed against the couch for a while, trying to calm his heartbeats. You’ve been sniffing him for a while now and he wasn’t sure what to do about it except to let you enjoy his… cologne. Deciding against his better judgment, he started: “Um… [your name]—“
“Oh just be quiet and sleep, Spencer.” One smack. Inhale. Exhale. Ah… The addiction must be satisfied.
You didn’t know when it became an addiction, but it did. Actually, it was a necessity. You didn’t think you could live another day without it. Without these… addictions, you noted with a wince. You didn’t intend to like it so much. Moderations, you told yourself, moderations when no one was paying attention. That was the safest. At first, it was only a little bit, then it got worse… and worse… and worse.
Inhale. Exhale.
“And so… I was thinking you should move in with me next week before we start the wedding plans…” Spencer’s voice. Ah, how sweet the sound… but what was even sweeter… Inhale. Exhale. “So what... you think?"
You lost track of what he was saying while inhaling and exhaling. Uh oh, that was a bit one, you hoped he didn’t hear it.
“[your name]?” he stopped suddenly. You felt his warm breath on the side of your cheek that wasn’t planted on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Inhale. Exhale. What? Did he say something? “…huh? What?”
“Sounded like you were um, sleepy,” he noted. Quite accurately, you added.
“Oh, goodness, no, Spencer. Continue…” You waved him off.
Then he did the darnest thing ever. “Well, what do you think about the plans?”
What plans? Uh oh, you didn’t like being caught—“Well… they’re fine.”
“Great, then I’ll stop by your place next week after work,” he chirped.
Huh? “Stopping by?” you furrowed your eyebrows.
“Oh, well I thought you’d like some help,” he muttered, seemingly discouraged by your eyebrow-furrowing. “I wouldn’t mind helping… though I’m sure that I’ll be less than useful when it comes to moving the sofas.”
Ohhh, moving in. Right. Okay, resume inhaling and exhaling. “Sure. You should come,” you mumbled.
“Alright…” he relaxed against the couch for a while, trying to calm his heartbeats. You’ve been sniffing him for a while now and he wasn’t sure what to do about it except to let you enjoy his… cologne. Deciding against his better judgment, he started: “Um… [your name]—“
“Oh just be quiet and sleep, Spencer.” One smack. Inhale. Exhale. Ah… The addiction must be satisfied.
47
“Alright, Reid, target’s in sight. Make your move,” Morgan hissed into the mouthpiece as he flattened himself against the wall. Hotchner was probably going to fire his ass if he ever heard of his having a hand in this crazy plan while the man was on vacation for once in his life. He never should have let Garcia talk him into helping the little weasel.
A deep exhale buzzed over the earpiece before a shaky response came back to him, “A-Alright. Thanks, Morgan… and Garcia.” After all, it wasn’t Spencer’s idea to bring the plan to such a place.
Garcia’s giggle rang through Morgan’s ears as she purred, “No problem, babe. Go get her.”
Spencer trotted across the ballroom in his tuxedo, pulling on his sleeves so that no one would notice the shaking in his hands. He raised a hand to push a lock of hair behind his ears. She was beautiful, wearing the pale green gown decorated with creamy pearls around her neck. Not the locket he had given her, he grimaced, she was still mad at him. As he neared her, the girl who was talking amongst her friends, standing at the center of the ballroom, he cleared his throat. However, it did not draw her attention. She seemed to be deliberately ignoring him.
He cleared his throat again, and this time, it caught someone else’s attention. Lily’s eyes widened when she saw him and cried, “Chance!” The girls turned around and glared at him, but [your name] refused to look at him.
Quietly he responded, “Spencer. I’m… Spencer Reid.” He felt the little speech he had prepared going down the drain when she glanced at him momentarily. “May I talk to [your name] for a bit?”
Something seemed to click in Lily’s mind. Her eyebrows quirked before she understood what was going on. Spencer noted that [your name] had a proclivity for picking friends who were just as quick-witted as she was. When they all walked away, [your name] raised her chin defiantly before remarking, “Well? Why are you here?”
“You,” he answered briskly. Spencer licked his lips, “Because of you, I mean.” After a pause, he murmured, “I’m sorry. Again.”
“Man, you gotta be more assertive,” Morgan said. “Say it like you mean it.”
“I love you,” Spencer added. This time, she was quiet, unsure of how to respond. “I know you feel the same way.”
She folded her arms across her chest and Spencer wanted to jump in joy. He was right, she was being defensive because he was right! Her lips pursed as she retorted, “Incredibly sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
He pulled out the box, “I’m not that sure… but I threw away the receipt, desperately hoping that even if you wouldn’t marry me, you would still take this ring.” He hung onto all of her reaction, the way her lips jutted upwards in a pout because she liked the ring and how her eyes trailed down to her own ring finger, imagining that she was wearing it. “Marry me, [your name].”
A deep exhale buzzed over the earpiece before a shaky response came back to him, “A-Alright. Thanks, Morgan… and Garcia.” After all, it wasn’t Spencer’s idea to bring the plan to such a place.
Garcia’s giggle rang through Morgan’s ears as she purred, “No problem, babe. Go get her.”
Spencer trotted across the ballroom in his tuxedo, pulling on his sleeves so that no one would notice the shaking in his hands. He raised a hand to push a lock of hair behind his ears. She was beautiful, wearing the pale green gown decorated with creamy pearls around her neck. Not the locket he had given her, he grimaced, she was still mad at him. As he neared her, the girl who was talking amongst her friends, standing at the center of the ballroom, he cleared his throat. However, it did not draw her attention. She seemed to be deliberately ignoring him.
He cleared his throat again, and this time, it caught someone else’s attention. Lily’s eyes widened when she saw him and cried, “Chance!” The girls turned around and glared at him, but [your name] refused to look at him.
Quietly he responded, “Spencer. I’m… Spencer Reid.” He felt the little speech he had prepared going down the drain when she glanced at him momentarily. “May I talk to [your name] for a bit?”
Something seemed to click in Lily’s mind. Her eyebrows quirked before she understood what was going on. Spencer noted that [your name] had a proclivity for picking friends who were just as quick-witted as she was. When they all walked away, [your name] raised her chin defiantly before remarking, “Well? Why are you here?”
“You,” he answered briskly. Spencer licked his lips, “Because of you, I mean.” After a pause, he murmured, “I’m sorry. Again.”
“Man, you gotta be more assertive,” Morgan said. “Say it like you mean it.”
“I love you,” Spencer added. This time, she was quiet, unsure of how to respond. “I know you feel the same way.”
She folded her arms across her chest and Spencer wanted to jump in joy. He was right, she was being defensive because he was right! Her lips pursed as she retorted, “Incredibly sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
He pulled out the box, “I’m not that sure… but I threw away the receipt, desperately hoping that even if you wouldn’t marry me, you would still take this ring.” He hung onto all of her reaction, the way her lips jutted upwards in a pout because she liked the ring and how her eyes trailed down to her own ring finger, imagining that she was wearing it. “Marry me, [your name].”
48
You groaned in frustration, straining to stare at the stage. The glare of the spotlight on his glasses was unbearable and you wished that you hadn't forgotten your own. Well, he looked like him. Skinny, kind of lanky, with that unforgivable rag of hair on his head that you've alway wanted to snip. That's Walter, alright. There was something about the way he walked that was entirely unlike the way Walter swaggered, but then again, wearing a suit does that to some people.
"Alright folks, this is number forty-eight. This special gentleman has a thirst for excitement and loves himself a challenge. Give him a game of chess or a Rubik's cube, forty-eight will love it. Take him home, feed him, bathe him, but don't kick him!" You gawked at what the announcer was saying and frowned. Hell, Walter sure was convincing. He made it sound like he really liked these nerdy things. "He's an agent who loves to save the day and reads 20,000 words a minute. Three doctorates in chemistry, physics, and that other science. Ladies, you gotta love a smart man."
You rolled your eyes, kicking away the temptation to stand up and yell at your brother for his outrageous lies. You were the science geek in the house and had just gotten your doctorate last week. Then the bidding started. The charity at the Brown's Adoption Homes had always been a popular events for gents to come and contribute with their good looks and women with the money. The prize was simple, money was given as an offering for men (usually mediocre to downright ugly because they really needed the money from that 'small' percentage of the proceeds) to spend an evening with desperate women. Walter somehow fell in the middle of it all, betting with his buddies that he was surely worth more than a couple of bucks. Then he realized that he didn't want to be rented by old women, then it became big sister's duty to help her little brother. You sighed inwardly, hating how you got dragged into this as well. You could be reading up on radio astronomy right now. Then the bidding started.
"Five."
You blinked, surely this wasn't a prostitute ring. Slowly you raised you hand, "Ten."
"Fifteen," said the blond lady across the room, grinning at you.
"Twenty." Wait a minute. Was that a man's voice?
"Twenty-five!" you exclaimed. Poor Walter, at least he was popular with both genders. When someone topped that with fifty, you winced. When you were about to let it go, the sound of his voice begging you made you shout, "One hundred dollars!"
Numbly, you signed the check at the table. Did you really just do that? Buy your own brother for a hundred bucks? You were so shocked by the outburst that you barely paid attention to the rest of it all. You turned around, eyeing the figure in the distance while you waves him forward, "Come on, Walter. Mama's expecting you home for dinner."
"Sis! What the hell?!" you turned around, jaw dropping when your brother stopped in front of you, "I told you I was forty-nine!"
Wait, that means---"Um, hi there... My name is Chance Matthews."
"Alright folks, this is number forty-eight. This special gentleman has a thirst for excitement and loves himself a challenge. Give him a game of chess or a Rubik's cube, forty-eight will love it. Take him home, feed him, bathe him, but don't kick him!" You gawked at what the announcer was saying and frowned. Hell, Walter sure was convincing. He made it sound like he really liked these nerdy things. "He's an agent who loves to save the day and reads 20,000 words a minute. Three doctorates in chemistry, physics, and that other science. Ladies, you gotta love a smart man."
You rolled your eyes, kicking away the temptation to stand up and yell at your brother for his outrageous lies. You were the science geek in the house and had just gotten your doctorate last week. Then the bidding started. The charity at the Brown's Adoption Homes had always been a popular events for gents to come and contribute with their good looks and women with the money. The prize was simple, money was given as an offering for men (usually mediocre to downright ugly because they really needed the money from that 'small' percentage of the proceeds) to spend an evening with desperate women. Walter somehow fell in the middle of it all, betting with his buddies that he was surely worth more than a couple of bucks. Then he realized that he didn't want to be rented by old women, then it became big sister's duty to help her little brother. You sighed inwardly, hating how you got dragged into this as well. You could be reading up on radio astronomy right now. Then the bidding started.
"Five."
You blinked, surely this wasn't a prostitute ring. Slowly you raised you hand, "Ten."
"Fifteen," said the blond lady across the room, grinning at you.
"Twenty." Wait a minute. Was that a man's voice?
"Twenty-five!" you exclaimed. Poor Walter, at least he was popular with both genders. When someone topped that with fifty, you winced. When you were about to let it go, the sound of his voice begging you made you shout, "One hundred dollars!"
Numbly, you signed the check at the table. Did you really just do that? Buy your own brother for a hundred bucks? You were so shocked by the outburst that you barely paid attention to the rest of it all. You turned around, eyeing the figure in the distance while you waves him forward, "Come on, Walter. Mama's expecting you home for dinner."
"Sis! What the hell?!" you turned around, jaw dropping when your brother stopped in front of you, "I told you I was forty-nine!"
Wait, that means---"Um, hi there... My name is Chance Matthews."
49
It was Prentiss. You couldn't believe it. Out of all people, you thought he'd at least cheat on you with someone you didn't know, but it was your best friend! Emily had been the one you talked to whenever you had problems with the boyfriend and now she was marrying him! Your eyes teared up at the image of them walking into the store together, picking out rings, and her laughing when he picked up something he liked. You hated yourself for trusting these two people.
The phone on the bed next to you vibrated again and when you picked it up, Spencer's name traveled across the screen. “What?” you snapped, unable to resist picking up the phone.
“[your name]? Is something wrong?” his voice, full of concern, asked. “Your voice is hoarse, are you crying?”
“Why would I be crying?” you retorted. “What do you want, Spencer?”
“Is that dinner still on tomorrow?” You laughed inwardly, resisting the temptation to yell at him and hang up, but instead, you merely confirmed his inquiry, “Alright, I'll be there at seven tomorrow. I've got a surprise for you.”
Surprise? He said it as though it were a good thing, you thought bitterly as he hung up. He was going to break up with you to marry Emily and now he was smiling at the prospect of breaking your heart. Ugh, it was shattering at this moment. You could only wait until tomorrow when the news would fully reach you.
The next day, he was knocking at the door, since Spencer knew that you never had too much of a liking for doorbells anyways. You were much to jittery and clumsy for that sort of noise. You answered the door, sniffling quietly while allowing him to walk in. Spencer didn't seem to notice your complexion as he inhaled the scent of the food. When he saw the single plate on the table, a frown played itself across his face. “[your name]? What's going on?” he asked, yet again with a voice full of concern.
“Don't you have something to tell me?”
“Oh,” Spencer searched frantically in his pockets, “The other day, I had the craziest idea... and Prentiss and I...” Your heart was beginning to break already, “went looking around because I didn't know what to look for.”
“Emily and you?” you sniffed again, “Spencer, is this where--”
And then he pulled it out. Spencer froze at the tears on your face before rushing to your side, whispering, “[your name], wh-what's wrong? Prentiss said you liked pearls and this was your size... what's going on?”
“You...” your voice cracked as you looked at the ring in his hand, “went to buy a ring.”
“Yes, I want you to marry me,” he said, “Did I do something wrong? A-are you not ready? Because I mean, if yo-you're not, then we can wai-wait. You know, no need to rush or anything. I-I know my job takes a lot of my time, but I swear that wh-when we're married, Hotch will understand.”
A laugh spilled from your lips as you wrapped your arms around him, “No, Spencer, it's perfect. You're perfect, and yes, I will marry you.” Spencer let out a sigh of relief as he pushed the ring onto your finger, after a while of admiring it, you quickly stood up, “You're hungry, aren't you? I should get you some food...”
The phone on the bed next to you vibrated again and when you picked it up, Spencer's name traveled across the screen. “What?” you snapped, unable to resist picking up the phone.
“[your name]? Is something wrong?” his voice, full of concern, asked. “Your voice is hoarse, are you crying?”
“Why would I be crying?” you retorted. “What do you want, Spencer?”
“Is that dinner still on tomorrow?” You laughed inwardly, resisting the temptation to yell at him and hang up, but instead, you merely confirmed his inquiry, “Alright, I'll be there at seven tomorrow. I've got a surprise for you.”
Surprise? He said it as though it were a good thing, you thought bitterly as he hung up. He was going to break up with you to marry Emily and now he was smiling at the prospect of breaking your heart. Ugh, it was shattering at this moment. You could only wait until tomorrow when the news would fully reach you.
The next day, he was knocking at the door, since Spencer knew that you never had too much of a liking for doorbells anyways. You were much to jittery and clumsy for that sort of noise. You answered the door, sniffling quietly while allowing him to walk in. Spencer didn't seem to notice your complexion as he inhaled the scent of the food. When he saw the single plate on the table, a frown played itself across his face. “[your name]? What's going on?” he asked, yet again with a voice full of concern.
“Don't you have something to tell me?”
“Oh,” Spencer searched frantically in his pockets, “The other day, I had the craziest idea... and Prentiss and I...” Your heart was beginning to break already, “went looking around because I didn't know what to look for.”
“Emily and you?” you sniffed again, “Spencer, is this where--”
And then he pulled it out. Spencer froze at the tears on your face before rushing to your side, whispering, “[your name], wh-what's wrong? Prentiss said you liked pearls and this was your size... what's going on?”
“You...” your voice cracked as you looked at the ring in his hand, “went to buy a ring.”
“Yes, I want you to marry me,” he said, “Did I do something wrong? A-are you not ready? Because I mean, if yo-you're not, then we can wai-wait. You know, no need to rush or anything. I-I know my job takes a lot of my time, but I swear that wh-when we're married, Hotch will understand.”
A laugh spilled from your lips as you wrapped your arms around him, “No, Spencer, it's perfect. You're perfect, and yes, I will marry you.” Spencer let out a sigh of relief as he pushed the ring onto your finger, after a while of admiring it, you quickly stood up, “You're hungry, aren't you? I should get you some food...”
50
A grin spread across your lips when you caught sight of the whipped cream and strawberries sitting idly in the fridge. No wonder Spencer had said he was coming home early today~
51
A tear left your eyes as you blinked. Twelve o’clock and he hasn’t come home yet. It was one too many times and now your ring was sitting on the table. The pen was shaking in your hands because you couldn’t decide whether or not you should even leave him a letter.
Spencer, I--
What would you say to a lying cheating bastard? To a former lover whom you never though would hurt you in such a way? To a husband who was no longer yours? The thought never crossed your mind when you had walked down the aisle and now the illusion was shattered.
Sniffling, you scribbled down the two quick words before pulling your suitcase out of the home that had brought to the world, your world, so many memories.
Goodbye, Spencer.
Spencer, I--
What would you say to a lying cheating bastard? To a former lover whom you never though would hurt you in such a way? To a husband who was no longer yours? The thought never crossed your mind when you had walked down the aisle and now the illusion was shattered.
Sniffling, you scribbled down the two quick words before pulling your suitcase out of the home that had brought to the world, your world, so many memories.
Goodbye, Spencer.
52
You knew going to the library was a bad idea. You, for one, never really needed to study in the first place. A quick skimming over the “wordy” notes you took in case would earn you an A from your professor, who hated you for snoring so loudly in his class. Now he finally figured that the only way to make you sweat was give you, just you, a test over materials he hadn’t even lectured in class. Maybe you should have taken medicine not to snore. Now you were sitting next to some kid who has ADD with college books.
Your eyes darted over to him, catching sight of his shaggy brown hair as he turned his head rapidly, pretending to peruse the pages. In-depth Study on the Theory of Relativity and its Relation to Quantum Mechanics. Which was nothing at all, you could have told him that. The pages were turning so fast you swore that he could be getting tons of paper cuts. “Hey…” you murmured, trying to add a hint of friendliness to your voice, not that you were, you know, angry or anything because some fat physics professor decided to ruin your day by making you study.
“Pardon?” he peeked out from behind the book, two large chocolate eyes magnified by dorky frames. The fifteen-year-old took one look at you before turning away, sputtering a meek reply.
“Could you quiet down? I would move away, but there’s barely any room left in the library,” you responded, “Some of us have to study, you know.”
“Ah, I’m sorry, I’m waiting for my mom to pick me up,” he said. You nodded with “full interest” in what he was saying before returning to your book. After a while, he spoke, “So… this library is pretty interesting, huh? Quantum mechanics… and theory of relativity,” he laughed, “I don’t know why they even try… it’s so obvious.”
“Oh yea? I could have told you that.” Déjà vu!
“Are you a mechanical engineering major?” he asked, peering at your book. You nodded, shrinking away while you tried to concentrate on the words again, “Cool. I’m Spencer Reid, physics major.”
Your eyes darted over to him, catching sight of his shaggy brown hair as he turned his head rapidly, pretending to peruse the pages. In-depth Study on the Theory of Relativity and its Relation to Quantum Mechanics. Which was nothing at all, you could have told him that. The pages were turning so fast you swore that he could be getting tons of paper cuts. “Hey…” you murmured, trying to add a hint of friendliness to your voice, not that you were, you know, angry or anything because some fat physics professor decided to ruin your day by making you study.
“Pardon?” he peeked out from behind the book, two large chocolate eyes magnified by dorky frames. The fifteen-year-old took one look at you before turning away, sputtering a meek reply.
“Could you quiet down? I would move away, but there’s barely any room left in the library,” you responded, “Some of us have to study, you know.”
“Ah, I’m sorry, I’m waiting for my mom to pick me up,” he said. You nodded with “full interest” in what he was saying before returning to your book. After a while, he spoke, “So… this library is pretty interesting, huh? Quantum mechanics… and theory of relativity,” he laughed, “I don’t know why they even try… it’s so obvious.”
“Oh yea? I could have told you that.” Déjà vu!
“Are you a mechanical engineering major?” he asked, peering at your book. You nodded, shrinking away while you tried to concentrate on the words again, “Cool. I’m Spencer Reid, physics major.”
53
You smiled reassuringly at Spencer’s helpless expression before waving at him and dashing out of the briefing room after Emily. That was quite a leap you have taken, allowing him to be in the same room as your brother. Sometimes Aaron was civil enough not to tear apart EVERY boy you’ve dated… since they tear themselves up just by the mere mention of your badass brother. Then again, Spencer worked for Aaron, surely your brother wouldn’t tear up such a valuable asset… would he?
Meanwhile… Spencer swallowed inwardly, basking in the awkward silence. Hotchner was gathering up his papers while the younger man simply stood there, waiting for something to be said. “So…” Might as well break the silence.
“[your name] tells me that you two were going to go on a vacation,” Hotchner said. “Are you aware of that?”
“We’re not going to do anything bad, I swear!” Don’t swear, Spencer! [your name] will have your ass if you waste an entire trip not doing anything bad with her. “I-I mean—“
The gravity of the situation dawned on him when a frown settled on Hotchner’s face. Why in the world did Spencer have to be dating his boss’s sister? Out of ALL people? “And that you plan to propose to her…”
“Well… wait, how did she know that?”
“A hunch.” Women’s intuition. Science never really did do a good job explaining that. Spencer never finished his train of thought before Hotchner trotted out of the room after throwing the words over his shoulder: “Don’t come back to work late on Monday.”
Meanwhile… Spencer swallowed inwardly, basking in the awkward silence. Hotchner was gathering up his papers while the younger man simply stood there, waiting for something to be said. “So…” Might as well break the silence.
“[your name] tells me that you two were going to go on a vacation,” Hotchner said. “Are you aware of that?”
“We’re not going to do anything bad, I swear!” Don’t swear, Spencer! [your name] will have your ass if you waste an entire trip not doing anything bad with her. “I-I mean—“
The gravity of the situation dawned on him when a frown settled on Hotchner’s face. Why in the world did Spencer have to be dating his boss’s sister? Out of ALL people? “And that you plan to propose to her…”
“Well… wait, how did she know that?”
“A hunch.” Women’s intuition. Science never really did do a good job explaining that. Spencer never finished his train of thought before Hotchner trotted out of the room after throwing the words over his shoulder: “Don’t come back to work late on Monday.”
54
You knew it was coming from the moment you met him. Spencer smiled softly at you as he put the last of the boxes into the car. College was only a few days away for him and you were just entering high school. When he asked whether or not you were ready, you merely replied by getting into the car with him. The ride to your house had been silent and awkward. Spencer occasionally looked at you, but as far as you knew, he never took his eyes off the road.
“I’m coming back for you, of course,” he said in such a matter-of-fact manner when he pulled into your driveway.
You, however, were skeptical. “Of course,” you responded, knowing that he wouldn’t catch the underlying tone in your voice, but expressions were another story.
Your boyfriend, while not very accustomed to interpreting human emotions, could at least discern that you were sad from the downward turn of your lips and the way your eyes were casted towards the ground. “You don’t believe me?” How he was able to piece all of that together, you were amazed.
“It’s not that, I just think that the future could change just about anything,” you murmured.
“That may be true,” he responded, despite that you hoped that he would vehemently deny the truth you had just pointed out with passionate feelings of his own. Instead, he said, “But just because I’m going to college and we’re going to be thousands of miles away doesn’t mean we won’t see each other at all. There are online communications… I’m willing to put out an hour or two to talk on the phone with you if you want… and of course, the holidays are typically used for visiting so—hey, [your name], don’t cry…“
“You’re terrible, Spencer…” you cried.
While he may be a super genius, Spencer was less than useful when it came to crying girls. Awkwardly, he placed his arms around your shoulder and pulled you to his chest. “I didn’t mean to make you cry, if you don’t want to maintain communication… so you can study, that’s fine with me too… It’s not like I’ll be in Massachusetts forever, occasionally I’ll move back here.”
“I didn’t mean terrible in that sense,” you sniffed, “You’re terrible for making me miss you already… and just when I thought that—“ You stopped again to sniff and break into sobs. “Gawd, this is terrible.”
Needless to say, the conversation ended on a good note, and Spencer, as you had hoped, kept his promise. Only four years later, he came back with a velvet box.
“I’m coming back for you, of course,” he said in such a matter-of-fact manner when he pulled into your driveway.
You, however, were skeptical. “Of course,” you responded, knowing that he wouldn’t catch the underlying tone in your voice, but expressions were another story.
Your boyfriend, while not very accustomed to interpreting human emotions, could at least discern that you were sad from the downward turn of your lips and the way your eyes were casted towards the ground. “You don’t believe me?” How he was able to piece all of that together, you were amazed.
“It’s not that, I just think that the future could change just about anything,” you murmured.
“That may be true,” he responded, despite that you hoped that he would vehemently deny the truth you had just pointed out with passionate feelings of his own. Instead, he said, “But just because I’m going to college and we’re going to be thousands of miles away doesn’t mean we won’t see each other at all. There are online communications… I’m willing to put out an hour or two to talk on the phone with you if you want… and of course, the holidays are typically used for visiting so—hey, [your name], don’t cry…“
“You’re terrible, Spencer…” you cried.
While he may be a super genius, Spencer was less than useful when it came to crying girls. Awkwardly, he placed his arms around your shoulder and pulled you to his chest. “I didn’t mean to make you cry, if you don’t want to maintain communication… so you can study, that’s fine with me too… It’s not like I’ll be in Massachusetts forever, occasionally I’ll move back here.”
“I didn’t mean terrible in that sense,” you sniffed, “You’re terrible for making me miss you already… and just when I thought that—“ You stopped again to sniff and break into sobs. “Gawd, this is terrible.”
Needless to say, the conversation ended on a good note, and Spencer, as you had hoped, kept his promise. Only four years later, he came back with a velvet box.
55
Spencer squinted, staring at the board again. The sign looked really familiar... but for some odd reason, he can't seem to recall neither its function nor its name. Frowning, he rested against the edge of his table again to ponder upon his current conundrum. Spencer Reid, he chuckled to himself, the man who has recently received his PhD in math, couldn't figure out the answer to a question his girlfriend gave him to get him off her back.
Dinner tonight, she had reminded him before his last class. Spencer had originally considered revenge among the lines of not coming home and pretending that he couldn't answer the question, but now that was no longer a possibility. He really couldn't answer the question. Perplexed, he stared at his phone. Five texts from you, each demanding his presence at home. Man were you going to be pissed to find out what kept him at school. You'd probably act like he cheated on you or something.
“Spencer baby?” He turned around to see your head poking into the room. When your eyes landed on all of the calculus and algebra on the board, Spencer paled at the frown on your lips and the furrowing of your eyebrows. “You're still here?”
“Ah, yea, well,” he shrugged, trying to think of a way to play this off. “You know, just bored, trying to solve this problem three more different ways or so...”
“Ah, have you tried the geometrical approach?” you asked. Why didn't he try the geometrical approach? Duh, of course! He could work it out that way.
The chalk pounded on the board once more, going through the calculus, going through derivatives and integrations... and then Spencer came to that part again. He blanched, once again unsure what to do at this point. He wanted to kick himself in the face if that were even physically possible. It seemed so simple, as though the answer was at the tip of his tongue. Finally you spoke again, “Spencer?”
“Huh?”
“Aren't you going to finish it?”
“Yes... well...” he murmured, straightening his pen. “Hold on... I need a glass of water...”
You nodded, not at all convinced, but what could he do? He wandered past you to get a bottle of water and only stopped when you said, “Spencer, your plus signs look really funny. It looks almost like a capital T.”
Dinner tonight, she had reminded him before his last class. Spencer had originally considered revenge among the lines of not coming home and pretending that he couldn't answer the question, but now that was no longer a possibility. He really couldn't answer the question. Perplexed, he stared at his phone. Five texts from you, each demanding his presence at home. Man were you going to be pissed to find out what kept him at school. You'd probably act like he cheated on you or something.
“Spencer baby?” He turned around to see your head poking into the room. When your eyes landed on all of the calculus and algebra on the board, Spencer paled at the frown on your lips and the furrowing of your eyebrows. “You're still here?”
“Ah, yea, well,” he shrugged, trying to think of a way to play this off. “You know, just bored, trying to solve this problem three more different ways or so...”
“Ah, have you tried the geometrical approach?” you asked. Why didn't he try the geometrical approach? Duh, of course! He could work it out that way.
The chalk pounded on the board once more, going through the calculus, going through derivatives and integrations... and then Spencer came to that part again. He blanched, once again unsure what to do at this point. He wanted to kick himself in the face if that were even physically possible. It seemed so simple, as though the answer was at the tip of his tongue. Finally you spoke again, “Spencer?”
“Huh?”
“Aren't you going to finish it?”
“Yes... well...” he murmured, straightening his pen. “Hold on... I need a glass of water...”
You nodded, not at all convinced, but what could he do? He wandered past you to get a bottle of water and only stopped when you said, “Spencer, your plus signs look really funny. It looks almost like a capital T.”
56
Hotchner sighed, blinking at the map in front of him. Sure he went to college, but way back when he did, it was never THIS big. Maybe he should have let the alumni take his daughter on a tour instead of insisting to be the cool uncle that he was. Sitting right beside him, Fiona sighed, clutching nervously onto her backpack and feeling slightly worried about how she wouldn't fit in because she was a year late. If she had been born before September, she would have been able to follow her dad's footsteps and entered college at the age of thirteen, not fourteen.
“Alright, Fi, let's try this again,” Hotch started, holding out the map, “This time without the map.”
“I don't know if we have the route quite right yet, uncle Hotch.” Fiona waved shyly at someone who walked by and frowned when they suddenly turned away from her. Were all college students like this? She didn't even have this much trouble in high school.
When she turned back around, her uncle was looking uncomfortably around him, although it was more on the irritable side, “Good thing it's not the first day of school yet. Why are there kids walking around anyways?”
“It's summer school probably...”
Thirty minutes later when they ended up at square one, Fiona turned to her uncle, having memorized each and every step while her uncle was still looking around to make sure they were in the right place. “Uncle Hotch, why don't we go back to the car and drop my stuff off in the dorms?”
“Alright, Fi, let's try this again,” Hotch started, holding out the map, “This time without the map.”
“I don't know if we have the route quite right yet, uncle Hotch.” Fiona waved shyly at someone who walked by and frowned when they suddenly turned away from her. Were all college students like this? She didn't even have this much trouble in high school.
When she turned back around, her uncle was looking uncomfortably around him, although it was more on the irritable side, “Good thing it's not the first day of school yet. Why are there kids walking around anyways?”
“It's summer school probably...”
Thirty minutes later when they ended up at square one, Fiona turned to her uncle, having memorized each and every step while her uncle was still looking around to make sure they were in the right place. “Uncle Hotch, why don't we go back to the car and drop my stuff off in the dorms?”
57
Spencer was sweating bullets by the time he dashed into the kitchen. Where was the candy when one needed it? He wished he wasn't so devoted to all of the facts he learned in school about how harmful candy was to little kids. The hyperactivity it would bring out might as well be as destructive as a nuclear bomb and there was no way he'd ever get his son to sleep. Not to mention, you'd probably kill him for doing something like that.
When the wail reached his ears again, he groaned. You'd probably kill him for throwing away all the back up candy. Stephen walked into the kitchen, holding your blouse and wailing at the top of his lungs. “WHERE'S MY MOMMY?!?!?!”
“S-Stephen, she's at a conference right now,” he explained. Why did he have to try to prove himself? He could have just dropped Stephen over at JJ's and be with you in North Carolina right now, explaining why intelligent design was all bull. “Hm, how about a story?”
The two-year-old stopped and stared at him tearfully, “What kind of story?”
By the time he had finished the first chapter of Crime and Punishment, Stephen Reid had dismissed the story as a big kid story and went to sleep on his own. Spencer sighed, resting on the couch to close his eyes a bit. At least now he knew how to take care of his son in times of trouble. Suddenly his eyes snapped open when another wail came to his ears, only this time, of higher pitch.
Spencer rolled over and tried to hide his head under the pillow while his son screamed from upstairs: “DAD! FIONA'S AWAKE!”
When the wail reached his ears again, he groaned. You'd probably kill him for throwing away all the back up candy. Stephen walked into the kitchen, holding your blouse and wailing at the top of his lungs. “WHERE'S MY MOMMY?!?!?!”
“S-Stephen, she's at a conference right now,” he explained. Why did he have to try to prove himself? He could have just dropped Stephen over at JJ's and be with you in North Carolina right now, explaining why intelligent design was all bull. “Hm, how about a story?”
The two-year-old stopped and stared at him tearfully, “What kind of story?”
By the time he had finished the first chapter of Crime and Punishment, Stephen Reid had dismissed the story as a big kid story and went to sleep on his own. Spencer sighed, resting on the couch to close his eyes a bit. At least now he knew how to take care of his son in times of trouble. Suddenly his eyes snapped open when another wail came to his ears, only this time, of higher pitch.
Spencer rolled over and tried to hide his head under the pillow while his son screamed from upstairs: “DAD! FIONA'S AWAKE!”
58
Morgan ran his eyes over Spencer's rigid form, noting the patches of brown on his shirt that resembled dried mud. His neatly combed hair looked messy and soppy, like some kind of wet puppy. The agent's face was mixed with irritation and slight disgust at his current predicament. The chief unit nodded to acknowledge his colleague's presence before heading into the briefing room. Surely this didn't have anything to do with--
“YOU AGAIN!” Spencer exclaimed, pointing in his direction.
Morgan turned around, seeing [your name] walking out nonchalantly with a cup of coffee in her hands. “[your name]?”
“Oh, it's you,” she said without an ounce of enthusiasm. “Looks like you made it to work alright.”
“You stole my cab!” the agent continued to point an accusing finger at her.
To which she replied, “That's incredibly inaccurate.”
“What's going on?” Garcia had now left her room at the sound of Spencer's voice being above its usual soft-spoken volume. “Is Reid fighting with someone?”
Spencer knitted his eyebrows together, dumping his stuff on the table before marching past Morgan in her direction. “How is that inaccurate? You were the one who pushed me aside just when I opened the cab door--”
“Naturally you could have spoken up. I was assuming, by your appearance, that you were a chivalrous gentleman and that you were simply opening the door to me. The meeting was in five minutes and I was in fear of being late and so I didn't have the time to speak with you though I was going to thank you from the bottom of my heart,” she sniffed lightly, sipping her coffee, “Obviously I have erred terribly.”
The entire room fell silent, unable to decipher what should be done about the situation. Either they stopped the fight while it was getting good or listen to what the entire story was about. Besides, they've never heard Spencer raise his voice before and when it was loud, Spencer had lowered its tone by many pitches, making him look, much to Prentiss's surprise, incredibly manly. Spencer, having found nothing adequate to give a comeback, changed the subject. “And what kind of meeting brings you here today?” he asked crudely.
“Why, I'm--”
“[your name], after you fill out your employment records, I'm going to need you to pick up Jack after school today,” Hotch called out upon leaving his office. His eyes landed on everyone in the room and Spencer's attire that day and he asked, “May I ask what's going on here or is everyone going to resume working?”
“YOU AGAIN!” Spencer exclaimed, pointing in his direction.
Morgan turned around, seeing [your name] walking out nonchalantly with a cup of coffee in her hands. “[your name]?”
“Oh, it's you,” she said without an ounce of enthusiasm. “Looks like you made it to work alright.”
“You stole my cab!” the agent continued to point an accusing finger at her.
To which she replied, “That's incredibly inaccurate.”
“What's going on?” Garcia had now left her room at the sound of Spencer's voice being above its usual soft-spoken volume. “Is Reid fighting with someone?”
Spencer knitted his eyebrows together, dumping his stuff on the table before marching past Morgan in her direction. “How is that inaccurate? You were the one who pushed me aside just when I opened the cab door--”
“Naturally you could have spoken up. I was assuming, by your appearance, that you were a chivalrous gentleman and that you were simply opening the door to me. The meeting was in five minutes and I was in fear of being late and so I didn't have the time to speak with you though I was going to thank you from the bottom of my heart,” she sniffed lightly, sipping her coffee, “Obviously I have erred terribly.”
The entire room fell silent, unable to decipher what should be done about the situation. Either they stopped the fight while it was getting good or listen to what the entire story was about. Besides, they've never heard Spencer raise his voice before and when it was loud, Spencer had lowered its tone by many pitches, making him look, much to Prentiss's surprise, incredibly manly. Spencer, having found nothing adequate to give a comeback, changed the subject. “And what kind of meeting brings you here today?” he asked crudely.
“Why, I'm--”
“[your name], after you fill out your employment records, I'm going to need you to pick up Jack after school today,” Hotch called out upon leaving his office. His eyes landed on everyone in the room and Spencer's attire that day and he asked, “May I ask what's going on here or is everyone going to resume working?”
59
You honestly didn't plan on marrying before the age of thirty, but obviously your boyfriend thought differently. Maybe you should have thought twice before agreeing to work for your brother after graduating from college, because god knows how many job offers he hid from you the day you entered under his wing. The older man had some kind of sister complex that meant keeping his sister safe under every circumstances possible, and that also meant a social life. While you loved your nephew you death, even Jack was getting sick of spending time with you every day. You had gone through every play in Shakespeare's repertoire and the boy was afraid that if his father didn't change his mind soon, you'd go through it again. Or worst, you'd go through the Stephen King collection.
You glared at Spencer across the table, fairly sure the unsub was paying attention to the two of you by now. He smiled innocently, waiting at bay for your answer and knowing perfectly well what answer would insure the success of this mission. At the same time, it would have to mean that the wedding plans had to be completed within the next month.
“Spencer, you are so dead after this--” you mouthed at him.
“I know it's abrupt,” he said quite loudly, “But I also know how your mother would die of embarrassment if we had a child out of wedlock...” Your jaw dropped at how well he was acting.
“Spencer, I--”
“Baby--” Did he really just call you that out of bed? “We can deal with this slowly... so...” Now all eyes were turned on you. “Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
And just when you thought of how improbable it was to die of embarrassment.
You glared at Spencer across the table, fairly sure the unsub was paying attention to the two of you by now. He smiled innocently, waiting at bay for your answer and knowing perfectly well what answer would insure the success of this mission. At the same time, it would have to mean that the wedding plans had to be completed within the next month.
“Spencer, you are so dead after this--” you mouthed at him.
“I know it's abrupt,” he said quite loudly, “But I also know how your mother would die of embarrassment if we had a child out of wedlock...” Your jaw dropped at how well he was acting.
“Spencer, I--”
“Baby--” Did he really just call you that out of bed? “We can deal with this slowly... so...” Now all eyes were turned on you. “Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
And just when you thought of how improbable it was to die of embarrassment.
60
“Yes, Reid, it's all the way in there,” Garcia signaled at her closet. Spencer stared at it for a while before turning back to her, fear very much evident in his eyes. When she saw it, the computer genius merely sighed and said, “Alright, I'll find it myself.”
Just when she took a step towards the closet, he reached out, grasping her shoulder reassuringly, “I'll find it, Garcia. I'm sure the file is in there somewhere... do you know where, exactly?”
Ah, yes, the file. Garcia nearly forgot. For a second, she thought it was just spring cleaning, but then she had told Spencer it was because she lost a file that Hotch needed. The poor kind-hearted boy decided to help her because everyone else took one look at that expression on her face and coldly turned away.
He walked in slowly, more like trotted. His feet shifted slightly until he was actually in the room. He bent slightly, searching around for this mysterious file until the door closed behind him and a lock clicked in place. Spencer froze, feeling slightly uncomfortable with said discomfort growing by the second. He whipped around quickly, jerking on the knob and calling Garcia's name.
“Spencer?” the voice behind him murmured.
“[your name]? What are you doing here?”
“Helping Garcia look for a file. I got kind of tired and fell asleep.” Of course, [your name] could fall asleep standing or sitting while Hotch explains a case full of gory details. “What about you?”
“Helping Garcia...” he mumbled, feeling really flustered about being in the same room with the woman he has been thinking about for months.
Suddenly said devil's name called from outside, “Alright, I'll be back in an hour. I hope you'll be done by then!”
Just when she took a step towards the closet, he reached out, grasping her shoulder reassuringly, “I'll find it, Garcia. I'm sure the file is in there somewhere... do you know where, exactly?”
Ah, yes, the file. Garcia nearly forgot. For a second, she thought it was just spring cleaning, but then she had told Spencer it was because she lost a file that Hotch needed. The poor kind-hearted boy decided to help her because everyone else took one look at that expression on her face and coldly turned away.
He walked in slowly, more like trotted. His feet shifted slightly until he was actually in the room. He bent slightly, searching around for this mysterious file until the door closed behind him and a lock clicked in place. Spencer froze, feeling slightly uncomfortable with said discomfort growing by the second. He whipped around quickly, jerking on the knob and calling Garcia's name.
“Spencer?” the voice behind him murmured.
“[your name]? What are you doing here?”
“Helping Garcia look for a file. I got kind of tired and fell asleep.” Of course, [your name] could fall asleep standing or sitting while Hotch explains a case full of gory details. “What about you?”
“Helping Garcia...” he mumbled, feeling really flustered about being in the same room with the woman he has been thinking about for months.
Suddenly said devil's name called from outside, “Alright, I'll be back in an hour. I hope you'll be done by then!”
61
“Dr. Reid, I hate to be standing here and here is the last place you want to be right now,” the old man started grimly, his fingers touching each other in a steeple stance, Spencer noticed. A position of asserting power, he mused, though he didn't understand why that would need to be established when the two other people sitting in this room were infinitely younger than he was. The girl beside him shrank in shame, lowering herself into her seat while trying in desperation not to meet his eyes. “And I realize that this trip has made you take the time out of your daily schedule to fly to California...”
“Headmaster Leon, is something wrong?” he asked politely, resisting the temptation to look at his watch. You always told him that he should spare some time for his daughter, but he didn't realize that a parent-headmaster conference was part of it... not that he minded. Spencer's eyes darted downward toward his bare wrist before he dragged his gaze up to meet with that of the headmaster's again. This meeting was bringing back an old habit that he has forgotten about until now.
“Absolutely not, there has been a little mishap earlier this week that I'm sure Fiona had no intention for it to happen... and so it's no cause for alarm...” Fiona blanched as the headmaster continued, “She is one of our brightest student and I have no desire to do anything to hinder the progress of her education... however, I'm afraid that this must be told to you in person.”
This time, Spencer blanched, he remember hearing this words spoken to his mother by the former headmaster. He whipped his head in his daughter's direction to see her bow in shame yet again. “Did you--”
“Earlier this week, Fiona had blown up the chemistry lab.”
“Headmaster Leon, is something wrong?” he asked politely, resisting the temptation to look at his watch. You always told him that he should spare some time for his daughter, but he didn't realize that a parent-headmaster conference was part of it... not that he minded. Spencer's eyes darted downward toward his bare wrist before he dragged his gaze up to meet with that of the headmaster's again. This meeting was bringing back an old habit that he has forgotten about until now.
“Absolutely not, there has been a little mishap earlier this week that I'm sure Fiona had no intention for it to happen... and so it's no cause for alarm...” Fiona blanched as the headmaster continued, “She is one of our brightest student and I have no desire to do anything to hinder the progress of her education... however, I'm afraid that this must be told to you in person.”
This time, Spencer blanched, he remember hearing this words spoken to his mother by the former headmaster. He whipped his head in his daughter's direction to see her bow in shame yet again. “Did you--”
“Earlier this week, Fiona had blown up the chemistry lab.”
62
You blink at the strange creature in front of you, donning the white tux and white Italian leathers. His hair is the tamest you've ever seen and not a single strand is out of place. His lips are chapped and twitching because he is fighting the urge to lick them, making you want to stand on your toes and give him a kiss. His eyes are wide open, scrutinizing your frozen form to make sure he wouldn't miss any reaction pertaining to what he had just done. Maybe he shouldn't have taken JJ's advice.
“What's this?” you ask casually, eyes taking in the newly decorated furniture. You looked him straight in the eye, hoping that he doesn't know that you've caught on to what he is doing.
“Surely you can guess,” he mumbles, not trying to sound wry. You are just going to make him go out and say it, aren't you? “It's the seasons.”
“Spencer, if you're choosing today to celebrate our four-year anniversary, then I've got bad news for you,” you chuckle, “I still want my presents.”
“Under the tree,” he answers, “You can look under there after dinner.”
“Alright, alright.” You follow him into the dinning room, dimly lit with a romantically set dinner on the table clad with the white cover. You raise an eyebrow, fighting back the urge to smile. Remember, [your name], JJ said to act clueless! “Are you sure this is edible, Spence?”
“Of course!” he feigns wounded pride, looking adorably like a kicked puppy. “Just because I'm good at theoretical work doesn't mean I'm not also good at non-theoretical work.”
The dinner goes by in a flash, leaving you waiting impatiently in your seat while your boyfriend stands up slowly to help you up. You grin, walking with him back to the living room where the tiny tree sat on the small coffee table. When you come closer, you notice the white box. Sweet! You exclaim inwardly, though it is a bit small for a necklace.
“Close your eyes,” he commands, voice sounding rather shaky. “And don't open them until I tell you to.”
You do so, literally jumping in your seat as you hear the box move and open. His hands touch yours and your heart begins to beat rapidly as you feel something cold slide onto your finger. WHAT? JJ never said anything about a ring! Spencer speaks softly, meaning every word of it, “[your name], JJ said I should take my name and ask you the question properly, but I don't trust myself to do it properly without you running out the door... so I'm just going to put it on before I ask, because... because I know the answer, but it's only right to ask.”
Ask, Spencer, ask!
Your eyes slide open to see his peering intensely into yours. “Will you marry me?”
“What's this?” you ask casually, eyes taking in the newly decorated furniture. You looked him straight in the eye, hoping that he doesn't know that you've caught on to what he is doing.
“Surely you can guess,” he mumbles, not trying to sound wry. You are just going to make him go out and say it, aren't you? “It's the seasons.”
“Spencer, if you're choosing today to celebrate our four-year anniversary, then I've got bad news for you,” you chuckle, “I still want my presents.”
“Under the tree,” he answers, “You can look under there after dinner.”
“Alright, alright.” You follow him into the dinning room, dimly lit with a romantically set dinner on the table clad with the white cover. You raise an eyebrow, fighting back the urge to smile. Remember, [your name], JJ said to act clueless! “Are you sure this is edible, Spence?”
“Of course!” he feigns wounded pride, looking adorably like a kicked puppy. “Just because I'm good at theoretical work doesn't mean I'm not also good at non-theoretical work.”
The dinner goes by in a flash, leaving you waiting impatiently in your seat while your boyfriend stands up slowly to help you up. You grin, walking with him back to the living room where the tiny tree sat on the small coffee table. When you come closer, you notice the white box. Sweet! You exclaim inwardly, though it is a bit small for a necklace.
“Close your eyes,” he commands, voice sounding rather shaky. “And don't open them until I tell you to.”
You do so, literally jumping in your seat as you hear the box move and open. His hands touch yours and your heart begins to beat rapidly as you feel something cold slide onto your finger. WHAT? JJ never said anything about a ring! Spencer speaks softly, meaning every word of it, “[your name], JJ said I should take my name and ask you the question properly, but I don't trust myself to do it properly without you running out the door... so I'm just going to put it on before I ask, because... because I know the answer, but it's only right to ask.”
Ask, Spencer, ask!
Your eyes slide open to see his peering intensely into yours. “Will you marry me?”
63
Red wrinkly skin, tiny arms and legs, a tiny mouth, a stubby nose, Spencer wouldn't believe it if he weren't actually standing there. A tiny human being came out of your stomach after being incubated, for lack of better words, for nine months and ten days... and it looked like him and you! Her eyes were closed tightly while she slept even though her arms and legs moved about. Occasionally a small cry would leave her lips and Spencer would stand up frantically, hoping that it would stop crying.
Was he really ready to be a dad? His hands were shaking in his pocket and it was too cold to tell whether or not his legs were. You were holding her and waiting for him to come closer, completely aware of the discomfort that he was feeling. There was nothing but patience in your smile. JJ and Prentiss pushed past him, cooing softly to the baby whose eyes haven't left his.
“You're just a cute little thing, aren't you?” JJ grinned, “You're probably going to have your daddy's hair when you grow up, all fine and curly.”
“And my brain, of course,” you chuckled, “Where's Garcia?”
“Coming any second, she went shopping,” Prentiss responded, “At least it's winter and the clothes won't be wasted.”
“So what's her name, Reid?” JJ raised an eyebrow at his silence.
He shifted to the other foot, completely speechless. The two of you had both been really excited for the birth that you guys have completely forgotten about it. Not to mention, Spencer had spent months coming up with a name, but he couldn't.
“Mom suggested Mary,” he said.
Of course Diane would suggest Mary, ironic as it may be. You stared at him blankly, “Spencer, we are not going to name our child after Mary Rose Tudor.”
Oh right, that was why he didn't agree to it. “Um.. What about Angela?”
“Goodness, Spencer, have you prepared anything at all?” Garcia walked in, “What about Selena?”
“Hm... getting there,” you nodded, “I don't think she looks quite like a Selena though. Come over here, Spencer, she hasn't seen her dad yet.”
He walked over tentatively and stopped right in front of the tiny creature. Its squirming made him want to squirm. He swallowed, trying to control his breathing when he remembered Hotch saying something about courage. He never had any problems getting along with Jack, but now he had it worst with his own kid. You smiled at him and instantly he felt a flush of relief pass through him and for some reason, he didn't feel afraid of his own child anymore.
When you passed her into his arms, she squirmed lightly and her lips moved a little before her tiny slits for eyes opened up and looked at him. Brown eyes, just like his. She wrapped her tiny fingers around his finger and pulled it to her mouth. Spencer felt a pang in his heart. So this was what it was like to have his own child, a tiny creature that he would devote his life to just as he had devoted his life to you. “I think she looks like a Fiona.” His precious Fiona.
You glanced at her, completely without a doubt that the name fits her well, “You know what, Spence, I think you're right.”
Was he really ready to be a dad? His hands were shaking in his pocket and it was too cold to tell whether or not his legs were. You were holding her and waiting for him to come closer, completely aware of the discomfort that he was feeling. There was nothing but patience in your smile. JJ and Prentiss pushed past him, cooing softly to the baby whose eyes haven't left his.
“You're just a cute little thing, aren't you?” JJ grinned, “You're probably going to have your daddy's hair when you grow up, all fine and curly.”
“And my brain, of course,” you chuckled, “Where's Garcia?”
“Coming any second, she went shopping,” Prentiss responded, “At least it's winter and the clothes won't be wasted.”
“So what's her name, Reid?” JJ raised an eyebrow at his silence.
He shifted to the other foot, completely speechless. The two of you had both been really excited for the birth that you guys have completely forgotten about it. Not to mention, Spencer had spent months coming up with a name, but he couldn't.
“Mom suggested Mary,” he said.
Of course Diane would suggest Mary, ironic as it may be. You stared at him blankly, “Spencer, we are not going to name our child after Mary Rose Tudor.”
Oh right, that was why he didn't agree to it. “Um.. What about Angela?”
“Goodness, Spencer, have you prepared anything at all?” Garcia walked in, “What about Selena?”
“Hm... getting there,” you nodded, “I don't think she looks quite like a Selena though. Come over here, Spencer, she hasn't seen her dad yet.”
He walked over tentatively and stopped right in front of the tiny creature. Its squirming made him want to squirm. He swallowed, trying to control his breathing when he remembered Hotch saying something about courage. He never had any problems getting along with Jack, but now he had it worst with his own kid. You smiled at him and instantly he felt a flush of relief pass through him and for some reason, he didn't feel afraid of his own child anymore.
When you passed her into his arms, she squirmed lightly and her lips moved a little before her tiny slits for eyes opened up and looked at him. Brown eyes, just like his. She wrapped her tiny fingers around his finger and pulled it to her mouth. Spencer felt a pang in his heart. So this was what it was like to have his own child, a tiny creature that he would devote his life to just as he had devoted his life to you. “I think she looks like a Fiona.” His precious Fiona.
You glanced at her, completely without a doubt that the name fits her well, “You know what, Spence, I think you're right.”
64
It has got to be a trick question.
You were standing in front of him, hands on your hips, a frown on your lips, and tapping your foot like tomorrow will never come. His eyes trailed down from your face to the pale blue gown hugging your figure, and his mouth went dry. Damn, Spencer cursed, he was aroused again and no matter how much he tried to convince you, you wouldn't let him make love to you.
“Spencer?” You raised an eyebrow at him, “I'm waiting for your opinion.”
“Uh,” he swallowed. Surely something like this must have slipped into one of his conversations with JJ, but while he was sweating bullets, nothing came to mind. Alright, Spence, think this through, that word is very straightforward. Not to mention, she is asking for your opinion. Knowing [your name], this is your wife asking you a simple question and as she is a fellow scientist like yourself, you would be doing her a disfavor if you were to lie, thus there should be no bias on your part.
“Spencer, it is a very simple question,” you repeated his thoughts, impatience coloring your voice.
“Well,” he proceeded, “If you want the answer in all of it's entirety, then yes. If you want me to explain...”
Needless to say, Spencer learned that for certain situations in life, bias is necessary in order to keep chaos from erupting, especially by the hands of a very pregnant woman.
You were standing in front of him, hands on your hips, a frown on your lips, and tapping your foot like tomorrow will never come. His eyes trailed down from your face to the pale blue gown hugging your figure, and his mouth went dry. Damn, Spencer cursed, he was aroused again and no matter how much he tried to convince you, you wouldn't let him make love to you.
“Spencer?” You raised an eyebrow at him, “I'm waiting for your opinion.”
“Uh,” he swallowed. Surely something like this must have slipped into one of his conversations with JJ, but while he was sweating bullets, nothing came to mind. Alright, Spence, think this through, that word is very straightforward. Not to mention, she is asking for your opinion. Knowing [your name], this is your wife asking you a simple question and as she is a fellow scientist like yourself, you would be doing her a disfavor if you were to lie, thus there should be no bias on your part.
“Spencer, it is a very simple question,” you repeated his thoughts, impatience coloring your voice.
“Well,” he proceeded, “If you want the answer in all of it's entirety, then yes. If you want me to explain...”
Needless to say, Spencer learned that for certain situations in life, bias is necessary in order to keep chaos from erupting, especially by the hands of a very pregnant woman.
65
Round two. Spencer swallowed the last drop of his coffee. He was ready this time.
You eyed his cup to find that it was empty. Time for him to go to work. You grinned, leaning over the counter to give him a kiss. Before you could say anything, your eyes widened in shock as the whooping and wolf whistles began. His hand held your cheek in place as his lips grounded against yours. You returned the kiss, pleasantly surprised by this... action.
You pulled away reluctantly when his tongue brushed past yours, quite aware of how red your face must be. Spencer was looking at everything in the room but you, trying to catch his breath. You blinked, a smile growing on your face as you breathed, “Wow.”
“1-1. I think we're tied,” he blurted, darting out of the door and ignoring all of the wolf whistling.
Only when he left the coffee shop did he remember Morgan told him to walk out slowly to establish his alpha status. Damn!
You eyed his cup to find that it was empty. Time for him to go to work. You grinned, leaning over the counter to give him a kiss. Before you could say anything, your eyes widened in shock as the whooping and wolf whistles began. His hand held your cheek in place as his lips grounded against yours. You returned the kiss, pleasantly surprised by this... action.
You pulled away reluctantly when his tongue brushed past yours, quite aware of how red your face must be. Spencer was looking at everything in the room but you, trying to catch his breath. You blinked, a smile growing on your face as you breathed, “Wow.”
“1-1. I think we're tied,” he blurted, darting out of the door and ignoring all of the wolf whistling.
Only when he left the coffee shop did he remember Morgan told him to walk out slowly to establish his alpha status. Damn!
66
“For the last time, Dr. Reid, I did not say that the unsub has some case of mental instability though I'm sure we're both aware that these serial killers must have something wrong in their clockwork if they're going around killing other people. There are nothing found on the victims which would indicate that any of these murder are random. I vehemently agree that there is very much a connection between these victims,” you explained briskly to the man glaring at you from across the table. Apparently he still wasn't over the whole cab thing.
“And I did not accuse you of saying such a thing, just that I don't agree that your speculations about these victims have a firm background,” he shot back.
You raised an eyebrow, daring him to retort as you challenged, “Are you saying that I'm performing guess work?”
“[your name].” You didn't even look over to your older brother as you stood up abruptly, ignoring the sound of the chair rolling backwards and hitting the wall. Aaron pinched the bridge of his nose, very well aware of what was coming around next.
The BAU team stared wide-eyed at you as you glared down the older man across from you. Reid was visibly shaking under the table, though he did have a point. Then again, what [your name] was almost always true. Her eyes narrowed at him but she hasn't said anything yet. That didn't mean much though. That just meant that she could explode any second. Probably when Reid said, “Why yes, thanks for stating the obvious.”
If her older brother hadn't held her back, the girl might have knocked their poor scientist into unconsciousness. Reid stood up, obviously afraid of this short creature. Certainly, King Hotch was not going to stand for such a show of authority from his little sister, especially not in front of his team. So he exclaimed quite loudly as he stood up as well and slammed his palm on the table surface, “This is it!”
Everyone's eyes turned towards him as he continued dangerously, “Everyone but these two troublemakers, leave the room.” When they did, he glared at the two of them, “And you are not leaving until you sort out your differences.”
Without a word, he strolled out.
Leave it to King Hotch to save the day.
“And I did not accuse you of saying such a thing, just that I don't agree that your speculations about these victims have a firm background,” he shot back.
You raised an eyebrow, daring him to retort as you challenged, “Are you saying that I'm performing guess work?”
“[your name].” You didn't even look over to your older brother as you stood up abruptly, ignoring the sound of the chair rolling backwards and hitting the wall. Aaron pinched the bridge of his nose, very well aware of what was coming around next.
The BAU team stared wide-eyed at you as you glared down the older man across from you. Reid was visibly shaking under the table, though he did have a point. Then again, what [your name] was almost always true. Her eyes narrowed at him but she hasn't said anything yet. That didn't mean much though. That just meant that she could explode any second. Probably when Reid said, “Why yes, thanks for stating the obvious.”
If her older brother hadn't held her back, the girl might have knocked their poor scientist into unconsciousness. Reid stood up, obviously afraid of this short creature. Certainly, King Hotch was not going to stand for such a show of authority from his little sister, especially not in front of his team. So he exclaimed quite loudly as he stood up as well and slammed his palm on the table surface, “This is it!”
Everyone's eyes turned towards him as he continued dangerously, “Everyone but these two troublemakers, leave the room.” When they did, he glared at the two of them, “And you are not leaving until you sort out your differences.”
Without a word, he strolled out.
Leave it to King Hotch to save the day.
67
You raised an eyebrow at the lump on your bed. He hasn't moved all night, apparently. Sighing, you made a silent note never to let Spencer get drunk again. Man, he was a mean drunk. First he was correcting your grammar, and the next thing you know, he was correcting your driving. At least, until you slammed on the brakes to make him hit the dashboard and go unconscious.
Unfortunately that didn't last very long. Before the car ride back to your apartment ended, he was awake again, rambling about how CERN was having some kind of conspiracy with their LHC. The high possibility of producing negative strangelets that could cause the world to die from the inside out. You could only roll your eyes at the ranting.
You weren't going to let him in your apartment. More like let him hang out in the car until he was sober enough to walk in, but then you remembered something that Spencer warned you earlier before taking one sip of beer after another. He had a bad stomach. Hurriedly you rushed out to the car to pull him inside so he wouldn't mess up your new car. Man, you were probably going to kill Morgan after this. Or Garcia. Whoever it was that suggested throwing a karaoke party for this kid.
He sucked at singing anyways! For a genius, he didn't have a clue about how tone deaf he was. And when he was drunk, he was saying that you were flat! Of course, you just whacked him in his face and he shut up immediately. When you set the blanket out in the living room, much to your dismay, your best friend was nowhere to be found. You could only grimace when you heard his terribly off-key humming from your bedroom.
Dear god... “[your name]!” he called to you in such a commanding voice, “Bring me some hot water!” Oh you brought the hot water. His tongue was scalding by the time he cried out in pain. You rolled your eyes at him, deciding that it was probably better for him to stay in your bedroom where it was closer to the bathroom than the couch. Hell, you didn't want to see any nasty Cheeto stains from his bile on your carpet, at least not permanently.
“Anything else, your majesty?” you sneered at your best friend, grumbling when he started singing the chemical compositions of root beer. Spencer rolled around on your bed for a while, grinning happily with the soft mattress under him. You frowned, tugging on his shoes so he wouldn't dirty your new sheets. They were your favorite sheets too! Note to self: don't let Spencer get drunk on his birthday and bring him back to your house.
In a few seconds, he passed out. Legs folded and arms tucked under his face, sleeping like a baby with a grin on his face. Gawd, you still had to love the kid though. Two months ago, you were a hair away from biting each other's faces off, now you were partners in crime... er, justice. You tucked him in, pulling the covers over him and smoothing his hair before clicking off the light. The next few seconds felt like microseconds. His thin fingers were suddenly wrapped around your wrist and you felt the ground beneath you disappear and your knees hit the silk covers on your bed. Your chin hit his forehead and suddenly you were dizzy, bracing yourself on his shoulders. Spencer's hands left your wrist and found their way to your hips as he pulled you closer.
Your eyes widened in horror, unable to do anything despite knowing where this scene was going next. His warm lips covered yours and he shoved his tongue into your mouth. You gasped, pushing at his shoulders until he hit the pillow again. Only to rise up from the dead a few seconds later to dart to your bathroom. You closed your eyes painfully at the sound of his retching into your toilet and hoped that none of his bile would stain your new rug. You walked past the bathroom later, rolling your eyes as you see him asleep on the ground quite comfortably, singing the element song.
Spencer will always be Spencer.
Unfortunately that didn't last very long. Before the car ride back to your apartment ended, he was awake again, rambling about how CERN was having some kind of conspiracy with their LHC. The high possibility of producing negative strangelets that could cause the world to die from the inside out. You could only roll your eyes at the ranting.
You weren't going to let him in your apartment. More like let him hang out in the car until he was sober enough to walk in, but then you remembered something that Spencer warned you earlier before taking one sip of beer after another. He had a bad stomach. Hurriedly you rushed out to the car to pull him inside so he wouldn't mess up your new car. Man, you were probably going to kill Morgan after this. Or Garcia. Whoever it was that suggested throwing a karaoke party for this kid.
He sucked at singing anyways! For a genius, he didn't have a clue about how tone deaf he was. And when he was drunk, he was saying that you were flat! Of course, you just whacked him in his face and he shut up immediately. When you set the blanket out in the living room, much to your dismay, your best friend was nowhere to be found. You could only grimace when you heard his terribly off-key humming from your bedroom.
Dear god... “[your name]!” he called to you in such a commanding voice, “Bring me some hot water!” Oh you brought the hot water. His tongue was scalding by the time he cried out in pain. You rolled your eyes at him, deciding that it was probably better for him to stay in your bedroom where it was closer to the bathroom than the couch. Hell, you didn't want to see any nasty Cheeto stains from his bile on your carpet, at least not permanently.
“Anything else, your majesty?” you sneered at your best friend, grumbling when he started singing the chemical compositions of root beer. Spencer rolled around on your bed for a while, grinning happily with the soft mattress under him. You frowned, tugging on his shoes so he wouldn't dirty your new sheets. They were your favorite sheets too! Note to self: don't let Spencer get drunk on his birthday and bring him back to your house.
In a few seconds, he passed out. Legs folded and arms tucked under his face, sleeping like a baby with a grin on his face. Gawd, you still had to love the kid though. Two months ago, you were a hair away from biting each other's faces off, now you were partners in crime... er, justice. You tucked him in, pulling the covers over him and smoothing his hair before clicking off the light. The next few seconds felt like microseconds. His thin fingers were suddenly wrapped around your wrist and you felt the ground beneath you disappear and your knees hit the silk covers on your bed. Your chin hit his forehead and suddenly you were dizzy, bracing yourself on his shoulders. Spencer's hands left your wrist and found their way to your hips as he pulled you closer.
Your eyes widened in horror, unable to do anything despite knowing where this scene was going next. His warm lips covered yours and he shoved his tongue into your mouth. You gasped, pushing at his shoulders until he hit the pillow again. Only to rise up from the dead a few seconds later to dart to your bathroom. You closed your eyes painfully at the sound of his retching into your toilet and hoped that none of his bile would stain your new rug. You walked past the bathroom later, rolling your eyes as you see him asleep on the ground quite comfortably, singing the element song.
Spencer will always be Spencer.
68
“You're not serious,” you gave him a look to see if he'd flinch at your attempt to confirm what he had just told you. When your husband merely nodded, you offered helpfully, “Look, honey, my brother is free this weekend and you know he'd love to spend some time with Stephen and Jack would love to see his cousin as well.”
“I'm sure... and I mean, they can come if they want to, too. How hard could baseball be? You calculate the force with which the pitcher throws the ball and hit it with the same amount of force to keep it from moving any more against you plus the amount of force needed to hit it out of the field,” he said convincingly, though you suspected that you weren't the one he was trying to convince. Spencer sounded like he was talking himself into the task. Besides, you knew what it was like to be hit with a baseball. Growing up with Aaron wasn't an easy task. “Besides, I promised him.”
There, that sealed the deal. You shrugged, giving him a kiss on the lips before handing him the metal bat on the way to the backyard. Stephen didn't really need practice for baseball, but his daddy obviously wanted to spend time with him. Well, you tried.
“I'm sure... and I mean, they can come if they want to, too. How hard could baseball be? You calculate the force with which the pitcher throws the ball and hit it with the same amount of force to keep it from moving any more against you plus the amount of force needed to hit it out of the field,” he said convincingly, though you suspected that you weren't the one he was trying to convince. Spencer sounded like he was talking himself into the task. Besides, you knew what it was like to be hit with a baseball. Growing up with Aaron wasn't an easy task. “Besides, I promised him.”
There, that sealed the deal. You shrugged, giving him a kiss on the lips before handing him the metal bat on the way to the backyard. Stephen didn't really need practice for baseball, but his daddy obviously wanted to spend time with him. Well, you tried.
69
“You're ruining my life!” she points an accusing finger at you in the midst of a glare.
You stare back at her, shocked and hurt, before you shout back, “Ruin your life? Maybe you'll think about that again when you don't have enough money for food. Go to your room, young lady!”
Fiona's footsteps stomp their way upstairs before her door slammed shut and you couldn't resist retorting, “Don't make me come up there and unscrew the door!” At the sound of the door creaking open again, you sigh in frustration. How could a twelve-year-old be so stubborn? You lay against the chair, so stressed that you hadn't heard your husband walk into the house.
“I'm home,” he greets softly, eying you with concern after planting a firm kiss on your lips. “What's the matter?”
“Fiona again?” you roll your eyes, “She wants a science kit for her birthday.”
Spencer voiced a silent “ah.” He, too, could remember the good old days when he would ask his mother for money to buy said kit. It was difficult for him to handle when she would say no. Needless to say, it would be the last reason why he would complain about having a bad childhood. “Do you want me to talk to her?”
You shrugged tiredly, “Spencer, she's your daughter too, you know.”
He went upstairs to see the pouting girl on the bed, playing with her breadboard and resistors. When he met her eyes, she looked up with hope, at the same time, with wariness. “What did mom say?”
“You shouldn't stress her out so much,” he shook his head. “You know, your mother never told me about it, but I found out from your uncle that at one point in her life, she didn't have enough money to buy food for her family.”
“I didn't mean to, I asked her if I could even use my own money... but she was so adamant about not letting me have one...” she frowned, leaning against her dad, “and all the kids in school have two! I'm only getting one!”
Spencer smiled, kissing his daughter's temple, “I wouldn't know about that.”
You stare back at her, shocked and hurt, before you shout back, “Ruin your life? Maybe you'll think about that again when you don't have enough money for food. Go to your room, young lady!”
Fiona's footsteps stomp their way upstairs before her door slammed shut and you couldn't resist retorting, “Don't make me come up there and unscrew the door!” At the sound of the door creaking open again, you sigh in frustration. How could a twelve-year-old be so stubborn? You lay against the chair, so stressed that you hadn't heard your husband walk into the house.
“I'm home,” he greets softly, eying you with concern after planting a firm kiss on your lips. “What's the matter?”
“Fiona again?” you roll your eyes, “She wants a science kit for her birthday.”
Spencer voiced a silent “ah.” He, too, could remember the good old days when he would ask his mother for money to buy said kit. It was difficult for him to handle when she would say no. Needless to say, it would be the last reason why he would complain about having a bad childhood. “Do you want me to talk to her?”
You shrugged tiredly, “Spencer, she's your daughter too, you know.”
He went upstairs to see the pouting girl on the bed, playing with her breadboard and resistors. When he met her eyes, she looked up with hope, at the same time, with wariness. “What did mom say?”
“You shouldn't stress her out so much,” he shook his head. “You know, your mother never told me about it, but I found out from your uncle that at one point in her life, she didn't have enough money to buy food for her family.”
“I didn't mean to, I asked her if I could even use my own money... but she was so adamant about not letting me have one...” she frowned, leaning against her dad, “and all the kids in school have two! I'm only getting one!”
Spencer smiled, kissing his daughter's temple, “I wouldn't know about that.”
70
You relaxed against the bench with your glass of champagne, trying to suppress the smile on your face at the sight of your husband running his bases. Spencer was running it all out of order and your five-year-old son didn't have a clue. Stephen grinned widely, watching his dad “pretend” to struggle catching that fantastic pitch, although you weren't quite sure whether or not Spencer was pretending.
Stephen's blue eyes were not from your side of the family at all, but definitely from Diana. She took one look at him and told her son that she was going to spoil this kid rotten. Jack's blond hair was many shades brighter than Stephen's, who was many times curlier. Ironically, neither of you had curly hair, unless you counted the limp strands that Spencer would neglect to comb his fingers through every morning after he kissed you upon waking up.
It was like living a dream. There you were, sitting in your backyard, watching your husband and son play on their makeshift baseball field with Jack. Hotch settled down beside you and you settled your head on your brother's shoulder. “I think we did pretty good, Aaron.”
“Yea...” he trailed off, thinking of Haley and another certain person he has been seeing.
“Why don't you bring Natalie over tomorrow for dinner? I've been dying to meet her, especially since Jack has been bragging to Stephen about how he's getting new toys and whatnot,” you offered.
“Maybe another time, we're still working things out,” he sighed, leaning his head against yours. It was hard to believe that not twenty years ago, Aaron had been taking two jobs and going to school to keep a roof over your heads.
You caught Spencer's eyes when he finally tossed Jack on his back, followed by Stephen hopping on for a ride as well, and smiled. Yea, it was like living a dream indeed, and you didn't want to wake up at all.
Stephen's blue eyes were not from your side of the family at all, but definitely from Diana. She took one look at him and told her son that she was going to spoil this kid rotten. Jack's blond hair was many shades brighter than Stephen's, who was many times curlier. Ironically, neither of you had curly hair, unless you counted the limp strands that Spencer would neglect to comb his fingers through every morning after he kissed you upon waking up.
It was like living a dream. There you were, sitting in your backyard, watching your husband and son play on their makeshift baseball field with Jack. Hotch settled down beside you and you settled your head on your brother's shoulder. “I think we did pretty good, Aaron.”
“Yea...” he trailed off, thinking of Haley and another certain person he has been seeing.
“Why don't you bring Natalie over tomorrow for dinner? I've been dying to meet her, especially since Jack has been bragging to Stephen about how he's getting new toys and whatnot,” you offered.
“Maybe another time, we're still working things out,” he sighed, leaning his head against yours. It was hard to believe that not twenty years ago, Aaron had been taking two jobs and going to school to keep a roof over your heads.
You caught Spencer's eyes when he finally tossed Jack on his back, followed by Stephen hopping on for a ride as well, and smiled. Yea, it was like living a dream indeed, and you didn't want to wake up at all.
71
Spencer furrowed his eyebrow, trying to process what you had just said to him and trying not to let his heart break at the same time, but he was failing miserably. The painful expression on your face express much of your reluctance in this break up, but it was necessary. You had to let go to this relationship that both of you once thought would last forever.
In your eyes, he was still the one. At the same time, every time you thought of him, you couldn't help but allow that malicious thought to take over your mind for a while, that he didn't love you as much as he did anymore. He had accumulated all of his happiness from work, where all of his time was now allotted. It was only evident to you that you didn't fit into any part of his life.
“...Really?” The dying warmth of your hand in his was now replaced by the chill of the diamond ring you had placed in it moments earlier. “This is it?”
Whoever said love was easy was a liar, a horrible liar that has led many blindly into a nasty break up. The awkward silence had settled over you two. Now that you've said the words, what do you do? Do you stand up and walk out? Or sit there and cry in each other's arms until the other say 'let's do this again?'
“I'm sorry, Spencer.” Please tell me we could give this another try.
He didn't. Spencer stared at the ring in a daze, whispering quietly, “Please. Just go.”
You allowed the tear to slide down your cheek before you stood up and walked out of the restaurant in a blind dash, not hearing him mutter silently and painfully, “No. Please wait. Let's try this again.”
In your eyes, he was still the one. At the same time, every time you thought of him, you couldn't help but allow that malicious thought to take over your mind for a while, that he didn't love you as much as he did anymore. He had accumulated all of his happiness from work, where all of his time was now allotted. It was only evident to you that you didn't fit into any part of his life.
“...Really?” The dying warmth of your hand in his was now replaced by the chill of the diamond ring you had placed in it moments earlier. “This is it?”
Whoever said love was easy was a liar, a horrible liar that has led many blindly into a nasty break up. The awkward silence had settled over you two. Now that you've said the words, what do you do? Do you stand up and walk out? Or sit there and cry in each other's arms until the other say 'let's do this again?'
“I'm sorry, Spencer.” Please tell me we could give this another try.
He didn't. Spencer stared at the ring in a daze, whispering quietly, “Please. Just go.”
You allowed the tear to slide down your cheek before you stood up and walked out of the restaurant in a blind dash, not hearing him mutter silently and painfully, “No. Please wait. Let's try this again.”
72
Spencer never thought that he would be a late bloomer. He always considered himself remarkably more advanced than his peers, and that was him being humble, but until he has two kids, he never realized how much he didn't know, especially in your absence. You were, much to his dismay, traveling around the states trying to preach (ironically) how irrational it would be to ban the teachings of the evolutionary theory and he, much to his dark dismay, volunteered to watch the kids. Spencer took up the challenge, not that he didn't love his kids in the first place, when Morgan commented that Spencer didn't have a bone in his body for babysitting.
So there he was again, sitting in front of the television with Stephen next to him, eating popcorn. While he itched to do so, the last time he tried to tell his five-year-old that intaking that abominable amount of sodium would only cause nightmares before bed, you kicked him in the shin. So now he was stuck just sitting there silently, eating the pieces that his son would occasionally graciously share with him. Fiona was in her small portable crib, sleeping through the thunder and loud noise from the television. He found that while she could not sleep in the silent confines of her room, she could be snoring softly while in his proximity, not that he could ever deny her such comforts if she knew how to speak in her young months.
Stephen looked up at him innocently, asking, “Daddy, can we get a big red dog?”
I'm afraid it is well beyond my financial status to genetically engineer a giant dog. “What would you name him?”
“Clifford.” Oh, that big red dog. The one that grew exponentially large in one night.
“I don't know what your mom would think about getting a dog... What about a rabbit?” German rabbits were more likely to grow to such a size and they're probably easier to take care of anyways. “We could probably find a red one... or one that's really brown.”
“Oh boy, a rabbit? Can we go tomorrow?” There he went again, him and his big mouth. First the baseball, now this. Spencer licked his lips, unable to answer while his son entrapped him in a trance with those big innocent eyes that seemed remarkably similar to yours when you two were dating.
“...sure.” Even though you will kill him after you come home to find a giant rabbit in your bedroom, at least you might be happy to find that your son inherited your persuasive skills.
So there he was again, sitting in front of the television with Stephen next to him, eating popcorn. While he itched to do so, the last time he tried to tell his five-year-old that intaking that abominable amount of sodium would only cause nightmares before bed, you kicked him in the shin. So now he was stuck just sitting there silently, eating the pieces that his son would occasionally graciously share with him. Fiona was in her small portable crib, sleeping through the thunder and loud noise from the television. He found that while she could not sleep in the silent confines of her room, she could be snoring softly while in his proximity, not that he could ever deny her such comforts if she knew how to speak in her young months.
Stephen looked up at him innocently, asking, “Daddy, can we get a big red dog?”
I'm afraid it is well beyond my financial status to genetically engineer a giant dog. “What would you name him?”
“Clifford.” Oh, that big red dog. The one that grew exponentially large in one night.
“I don't know what your mom would think about getting a dog... What about a rabbit?” German rabbits were more likely to grow to such a size and they're probably easier to take care of anyways. “We could probably find a red one... or one that's really brown.”
“Oh boy, a rabbit? Can we go tomorrow?” There he went again, him and his big mouth. First the baseball, now this. Spencer licked his lips, unable to answer while his son entrapped him in a trance with those big innocent eyes that seemed remarkably similar to yours when you two were dating.
“...sure.” Even though you will kill him after you come home to find a giant rabbit in your bedroom, at least you might be happy to find that your son inherited your persuasive skills.
73
For the first time in your life, you realized that you were staring into the eyes of the man who would later become your husband.
74
Spencer Reid was no charmer.
He was a disgrace to the Homo Sapiens because of his inability to use his bipedalism properly. He was so socially inept that the first words coming out of his mouth were always irrelevant to the conversation, much to the dismay of his inner genius. Worst of all, he didn't have a single bone in his body that had to do with making a lady smile.
Chance Matthews was different.
When you stumbled in the cafe, he effectively caught both you and your cup before any of it could spill onto your white blouse. There was an oddly mysterious eloquence in the way he spoke, for to you it always seemed like you couldn't get enough of his voice. Your nieces and nephews adore him and the only other person who could do so more was probably you.
Unfortunately, Chance Matthews was not real.
He was Spencer Reid's creation, a device used to get close to you to protect you.
When you met Spencer Reid, you found your heart beating rapidly against your chest every time he stumbled over his own steps. You often wondered if the shade of pink on your cheeks was any darker than his and the ranting about the discoveries of science only made you want to listen more.
You liked both men, but if you had a choice, you'd still choose Spencer Reid.
He was a disgrace to the Homo Sapiens because of his inability to use his bipedalism properly. He was so socially inept that the first words coming out of his mouth were always irrelevant to the conversation, much to the dismay of his inner genius. Worst of all, he didn't have a single bone in his body that had to do with making a lady smile.
Chance Matthews was different.
When you stumbled in the cafe, he effectively caught both you and your cup before any of it could spill onto your white blouse. There was an oddly mysterious eloquence in the way he spoke, for to you it always seemed like you couldn't get enough of his voice. Your nieces and nephews adore him and the only other person who could do so more was probably you.
Unfortunately, Chance Matthews was not real.
He was Spencer Reid's creation, a device used to get close to you to protect you.
When you met Spencer Reid, you found your heart beating rapidly against your chest every time he stumbled over his own steps. You often wondered if the shade of pink on your cheeks was any darker than his and the ranting about the discoveries of science only made you want to listen more.
You liked both men, but if you had a choice, you'd still choose Spencer Reid.
75
Bowling is not an easy sport at all, much to Spencer's dismay. He is once again deceived by the simple physics of simply rolling the ball across the grease-covered floor until it will collide inelastically with the white pins at the end of the alley and earn him a strike. Not likely. At all. Oh he is so wrong.
The secret to throwing the perfect ball, meaning a bowling ball that traveled in a straight line without rolling, or of some resemblance of extreme slipping, is to put one's body into it. The amount of energy that would go into throwing the ball is very much similar to allowing the ball to “roll” down a steep hill in such a way that it would appear to be traveling really fast, when in reality, it has no choice but to slip because the hill is so steep.
Unfortunately, he is not standing on top of a steep hill. He is standing in front of his entire BAU unit, in front of you, who is sitting there with your arms folded in front of your chest with that amused expression on your face. He ought to wipe that smirk off your face, he should. However, right now he has to concentrate on bowling. It is necessary for him to attain a strike. He needs to focus on converting all of his ATP into kinetic energy.
“Reid, you need to bowl soon,” says Hotch, looking as serious as ever with his bowling gloves.
He swallows and nods. He can't disappoint his captain either. He takes a step back, inhales and exhales, before lowering his arm to swing it back, allowing the momentum to build up as the ball travels forward. I can do this! When the ball is traveling at a velocity whose direction is relatively parallel to the ground, he releases it, allowing it to spring forth into the battlefield. Spencer holds his breath as it flies across the air, two inches from the ground, and feels his heart drop as it starts to spin into his doom, the gutter.
He can hear it now, the sputters of laughter, giggles, and chuckles. The back of his neck starts to heat up and beads of sweat seem to be forming along his temple. Oh god, he has missed it completely. He dares not turn around to meet the solemn stare of his captain and the widening smirk on your lips.
Bowling is such a complicated sport.
The secret to throwing the perfect ball, meaning a bowling ball that traveled in a straight line without rolling, or of some resemblance of extreme slipping, is to put one's body into it. The amount of energy that would go into throwing the ball is very much similar to allowing the ball to “roll” down a steep hill in such a way that it would appear to be traveling really fast, when in reality, it has no choice but to slip because the hill is so steep.
Unfortunately, he is not standing on top of a steep hill. He is standing in front of his entire BAU unit, in front of you, who is sitting there with your arms folded in front of your chest with that amused expression on your face. He ought to wipe that smirk off your face, he should. However, right now he has to concentrate on bowling. It is necessary for him to attain a strike. He needs to focus on converting all of his ATP into kinetic energy.
“Reid, you need to bowl soon,” says Hotch, looking as serious as ever with his bowling gloves.
He swallows and nods. He can't disappoint his captain either. He takes a step back, inhales and exhales, before lowering his arm to swing it back, allowing the momentum to build up as the ball travels forward. I can do this! When the ball is traveling at a velocity whose direction is relatively parallel to the ground, he releases it, allowing it to spring forth into the battlefield. Spencer holds his breath as it flies across the air, two inches from the ground, and feels his heart drop as it starts to spin into his doom, the gutter.
He can hear it now, the sputters of laughter, giggles, and chuckles. The back of his neck starts to heat up and beads of sweat seem to be forming along his temple. Oh god, he has missed it completely. He dares not turn around to meet the solemn stare of his captain and the widening smirk on your lips.
Bowling is such a complicated sport.
76
“Let go, Fiona, it’s mommy and daddy time,” you nudged her stubborn arms apart from your leg, “We already spent the entire afternoon together putting together a PWM circuit.”
“Not fair. Daddy always steals mommy away,” she pouted, glaring at daddy dearest before turning puppy-eyed towards her uncle, “Uncle Hotch, take daddy away so mommy can teach me how to make another circuit.”
“Fiona!~” Spencer whined, holding his arms out, “Don’t tell daddy to go away!”
You rolled your eyes, watching the pair. Honestly, could you not get a moment of quiet in the household? Hotch shrugged before nodding at Jack who just got into the house. At twelve years of age, he looked almost like a replicate of his dad if not for his hair. In spite of Fiona’s glare, Jack knew who had more experience under the signature eyebrow raise and went to you, groaning with annoyance as you brushed your lips against your nephew’s forehead.
“How was school?” you asked, stepping back so Jack could pry his cousin from around your legs. “Have fun with Jack, honey.”
“What?!” four-year-old Fiona sputtered, eyes widening at her usual comrade in shocked betrayal. “How could you, Jack!”
You kissed her cheek and got out of the way before she could hook her arms around your neck. Spencer patted her head and she glared at him again, drawing out another pout from him. You raised your eyebrow again and she harrumphed before kissing her daddy on the cheek and pulled back, folding her pudgy arms in front of her chest. When they all left the house, Spencer came to you, curling an arm around your hip as you hooked your arms around his neck.
His lips touched yours softly and you let out a soft sigh. It was like the first time you two have kissed and you knew it would never be the last. Quietly, he whispered against your lips, “Happy anniversary, [your name].”
“I love you, Spence,” you grinned. And then something suddenly snapped inside of you, “I feel like I’m forgetting something…”
“It can wait until tomorrow,” he mumbled, pulling you upstairs with his lips quite thoroughly attached to yours, not that you minded, of course.
…Except when both of you froze the moment the door opened and Stephen’s voice announced, “I’m home, mom and dad—Jesus, why is it so dark in here?”
“Not fair. Daddy always steals mommy away,” she pouted, glaring at daddy dearest before turning puppy-eyed towards her uncle, “Uncle Hotch, take daddy away so mommy can teach me how to make another circuit.”
“Fiona!~” Spencer whined, holding his arms out, “Don’t tell daddy to go away!”
You rolled your eyes, watching the pair. Honestly, could you not get a moment of quiet in the household? Hotch shrugged before nodding at Jack who just got into the house. At twelve years of age, he looked almost like a replicate of his dad if not for his hair. In spite of Fiona’s glare, Jack knew who had more experience under the signature eyebrow raise and went to you, groaning with annoyance as you brushed your lips against your nephew’s forehead.
“How was school?” you asked, stepping back so Jack could pry his cousin from around your legs. “Have fun with Jack, honey.”
“What?!” four-year-old Fiona sputtered, eyes widening at her usual comrade in shocked betrayal. “How could you, Jack!”
You kissed her cheek and got out of the way before she could hook her arms around your neck. Spencer patted her head and she glared at him again, drawing out another pout from him. You raised your eyebrow again and she harrumphed before kissing her daddy on the cheek and pulled back, folding her pudgy arms in front of her chest. When they all left the house, Spencer came to you, curling an arm around your hip as you hooked your arms around his neck.
His lips touched yours softly and you let out a soft sigh. It was like the first time you two have kissed and you knew it would never be the last. Quietly, he whispered against your lips, “Happy anniversary, [your name].”
“I love you, Spence,” you grinned. And then something suddenly snapped inside of you, “I feel like I’m forgetting something…”
“It can wait until tomorrow,” he mumbled, pulling you upstairs with his lips quite thoroughly attached to yours, not that you minded, of course.
…Except when both of you froze the moment the door opened and Stephen’s voice announced, “I’m home, mom and dad—Jesus, why is it so dark in here?”
77
He couldn’t decide what was so familiar about those dark round eyes or those light fine curls, but the last thing Spencer wanted to be accused of was a molester or some kind of pervert. After all, it was his job to catch those bad people. But somehow, he couldn’t drag his eyes away from the tiny girl sitting next to him, quietly engrossed in a book titled “Introduction to Astrophysics Vol. 1.”
Seriously?
He flipped a page from his science journal, taking care to pay a bit more attention to the new M theory or whatever god forsaken theory they came up with nowadays to best the string theory before clearing his throat. The girl, no more than seven, peered at him in the most aggravating manner, as if she were very much aware of his presence next to her. So Spencer, out of the politeness of his heart, coughed and apologized quietly, “Sorry. Bad cold.”
Instead of saying something back, be it witty or completely innocent, the girl simply moved away from him, settling herself down at another table. At least she was smart. Unlike someone he had known in the past. When she stood up, he couldn’t help but stare at the way she walked. There was a little skip in each step, kind of like dancing, kind of like… He shook his head. Couldn’t be.
“Fiona, are you ready to go? I’ve been calling you for five times now,” called a husky voice from the entrance of the library.
The girl looked up from her book, yet again annoyed by the interruption from her precious reading time before the frown disappeared from her lips. “Mama, you’re out early.”
Spencer froze, not daring to turn around, but she had already walked past him and whispering softly, “Just wanted to see if you wanted some lunch. Put the book back so we can go.”
His fingers tightened on the pages, eyes lingering on the curls cascading down her back. She couldn’t see him from where she was standing, but he could see her perfectly. Her smile was still the same, still the lop-sided dimple that caused his heart to run in circles and his breath to quicken. And when his eyes returned to the little girl tiptoeing herself up a step to put the book back, it came to him at once.
The resemblance was uncanny and he couldn’t believe that he didn’t see it sooner. When Fiona came back to her mother, she clasped her mom’s hand and declared, “Mom, you wouldn’t believe what I read about today.”
She laughed lightly, briefly looking up and froze when she caught his eyes. Spencer managed a shaky smile and a tiny wave and she came to him. Oh dear, what should he do? Stand up and greet her? Or sit there and allow her to walk past him? He never got to decide, because before he knew it, she was standing at his table with a disgruntled Fiona at her side. “Long time no see, Spence.”
“Be careful mom, he has a bad cold,” she warned her mother.
“You look wonderful,” he breathed. Spencer wanted to kick himself. Who in the world sounded out of breath while they sat in a library? Way to be a dork at the ripe age of forty! How embarrassing… and in front of some kid too!
She laughed and licked her lips, not missing the way he was behaving at all. “It’s nice to see you again, Spence. I missed you.” A distant look briefed her eyes before she finally said, “I hope we meet again. Come on, Fiona, you’re going to be late for dance practice again if we take too long for lunch.”
He watched as the two walked away, a growing desire to stand up and follow them, to slip his hand into her other free hand and continue life as though they never stopped living at all, as though they hadn’t stopped being together seven years ago when she came to him with news of the pregnancy. But life was not that easy, as he has learned. He had signed the paper away and all he could be glad for was seeing her in these brief periods that one could only call a miracle.
Yes, he hoped they meet again. Perhaps next time, he would be able to tell her how he felt.
Seriously?
He flipped a page from his science journal, taking care to pay a bit more attention to the new M theory or whatever god forsaken theory they came up with nowadays to best the string theory before clearing his throat. The girl, no more than seven, peered at him in the most aggravating manner, as if she were very much aware of his presence next to her. So Spencer, out of the politeness of his heart, coughed and apologized quietly, “Sorry. Bad cold.”
Instead of saying something back, be it witty or completely innocent, the girl simply moved away from him, settling herself down at another table. At least she was smart. Unlike someone he had known in the past. When she stood up, he couldn’t help but stare at the way she walked. There was a little skip in each step, kind of like dancing, kind of like… He shook his head. Couldn’t be.
“Fiona, are you ready to go? I’ve been calling you for five times now,” called a husky voice from the entrance of the library.
The girl looked up from her book, yet again annoyed by the interruption from her precious reading time before the frown disappeared from her lips. “Mama, you’re out early.”
Spencer froze, not daring to turn around, but she had already walked past him and whispering softly, “Just wanted to see if you wanted some lunch. Put the book back so we can go.”
His fingers tightened on the pages, eyes lingering on the curls cascading down her back. She couldn’t see him from where she was standing, but he could see her perfectly. Her smile was still the same, still the lop-sided dimple that caused his heart to run in circles and his breath to quicken. And when his eyes returned to the little girl tiptoeing herself up a step to put the book back, it came to him at once.
The resemblance was uncanny and he couldn’t believe that he didn’t see it sooner. When Fiona came back to her mother, she clasped her mom’s hand and declared, “Mom, you wouldn’t believe what I read about today.”
She laughed lightly, briefly looking up and froze when she caught his eyes. Spencer managed a shaky smile and a tiny wave and she came to him. Oh dear, what should he do? Stand up and greet her? Or sit there and allow her to walk past him? He never got to decide, because before he knew it, she was standing at his table with a disgruntled Fiona at her side. “Long time no see, Spence.”
“Be careful mom, he has a bad cold,” she warned her mother.
“You look wonderful,” he breathed. Spencer wanted to kick himself. Who in the world sounded out of breath while they sat in a library? Way to be a dork at the ripe age of forty! How embarrassing… and in front of some kid too!
She laughed and licked her lips, not missing the way he was behaving at all. “It’s nice to see you again, Spence. I missed you.” A distant look briefed her eyes before she finally said, “I hope we meet again. Come on, Fiona, you’re going to be late for dance practice again if we take too long for lunch.”
He watched as the two walked away, a growing desire to stand up and follow them, to slip his hand into her other free hand and continue life as though they never stopped living at all, as though they hadn’t stopped being together seven years ago when she came to him with news of the pregnancy. But life was not that easy, as he has learned. He had signed the paper away and all he could be glad for was seeing her in these brief periods that one could only call a miracle.
Yes, he hoped they meet again. Perhaps next time, he would be able to tell her how he felt.
78
He backed away in horror, not quite believing what he was reading and nearly stumbled over a tiny body that had been standing behind him. He glanced up, feeling quite flustered and embarrassed from being caught in the act of reading something so clandestine as—SHIT!
“[your name]!” he exclaimed, trying to flash you a shaky smile. Morgan said it always worked for him, but for some reason, Spencer just couldn’t get the frown on your face to turn upside down.
You, on the other hand, offered no hand to help him up. You merely stood there with your arms folded across your chest and the calmest expression on your face. Of course, with that exception of the most dangerous frown in the history of mankind plastered on your face. After all, you were Hotch’s sister. In any case, he was caught snooping in your things and you were now looking very pissed off. “Did you enjoy reading my personal journal?”
What should he say? What should he say? What would Morgan say in a case like this? “I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t.” And killed too, probably. Then again, he was going to be killed either way. “You… um… write very nicely.”
You glanced at the screen to see what he was reading before raising an eyebrow. Slowly, you mused, “So you enjoy reading about yourself.”
Hotch’s sister. A secret writer. A… romance novelist! Spencer could never see himself in such a light, but she, his worst enemy, was writing… romantic scenes about him with some random lady named Liza! Who the hell was Liza?! Before he could allow himself to be any more embarrassed by his situation, though he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out why you were the least embarrassed from being discovered that you were writing about him… by him, no less, Spencer blurted, “That doesn’t explain why you were writing about me in the first place.”
“Why not?” you shrugged. After a while, you smirked. “So you really don’t know?” He shook his head. [your name] let out a loud laugh before turning around to leave the room. Much to Spencer’s protests, all she said to that was, “Someone obviously has not been paying attention during debriefing. Oh, and before you leave, be sure to hit the submit button. I finished editing and was waiting for Garcia’s input… but since you approve, then you should post it up. The unsub is sure to respond soon enough.”
Spencer snapped his head in her direction to protest, but she was already gone. Of course he was bloody paying attention during debriefing! He would have actually remembered stuff too if not for her incessant foot tapping!
“[your name]!” he exclaimed, trying to flash you a shaky smile. Morgan said it always worked for him, but for some reason, Spencer just couldn’t get the frown on your face to turn upside down.
You, on the other hand, offered no hand to help him up. You merely stood there with your arms folded across your chest and the calmest expression on your face. Of course, with that exception of the most dangerous frown in the history of mankind plastered on your face. After all, you were Hotch’s sister. In any case, he was caught snooping in your things and you were now looking very pissed off. “Did you enjoy reading my personal journal?”
What should he say? What should he say? What would Morgan say in a case like this? “I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t.” And killed too, probably. Then again, he was going to be killed either way. “You… um… write very nicely.”
You glanced at the screen to see what he was reading before raising an eyebrow. Slowly, you mused, “So you enjoy reading about yourself.”
Hotch’s sister. A secret writer. A… romance novelist! Spencer could never see himself in such a light, but she, his worst enemy, was writing… romantic scenes about him with some random lady named Liza! Who the hell was Liza?! Before he could allow himself to be any more embarrassed by his situation, though he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out why you were the least embarrassed from being discovered that you were writing about him… by him, no less, Spencer blurted, “That doesn’t explain why you were writing about me in the first place.”
“Why not?” you shrugged. After a while, you smirked. “So you really don’t know?” He shook his head. [your name] let out a loud laugh before turning around to leave the room. Much to Spencer’s protests, all she said to that was, “Someone obviously has not been paying attention during debriefing. Oh, and before you leave, be sure to hit the submit button. I finished editing and was waiting for Garcia’s input… but since you approve, then you should post it up. The unsub is sure to respond soon enough.”
Spencer snapped his head in her direction to protest, but she was already gone. Of course he was bloody paying attention during debriefing! He would have actually remembered stuff too if not for her incessant foot tapping!
79
Spencer was overly joyed when he learned that you were pregnant. He was the exemplary husband, especially during pregnancy. Never have you seen a man with such enthusiasm to satisfy your cravings, be they in the middle of the night or during his toughest missions. Of course, it wasn’t as though you’ve been pregnant before. Oh, and he would say the most darling things whenever you were cranky and message your shoulders and calves when you were aching from carrying around his babe.
Needless to say, the second time around, you really couldn’t question his performance. While he was slightly more tamed now, and perhaps less enthusiastic due to baby Stephen grabbing all of his attention, he was certainly still the ideal husband. Fiona, much to Stephen’s dismay, seemed to be the jewel of his eyes the moment she left your womb.
Now the third time around, Spencer was all jittery. With two young babes hanging onto his legs and your stomach outrageously large, he daren’t ask if you were carrying twins. However, the size of your stomach implied nothing else. Nonetheless, Spencer was troubled. Even Morgan pointed the problem out. You, his wife, would never stay “un-pregnant” for long. He would have barely painted the kids’ rooms before you would come to him with news of another child. He could only waste away a sigh while his mother chuckled proudly over the phone when he relayed the news to her. Why would she care anyways? She was getting grandchildren and didn’t have to lift a finger. He couldn’t stay away from you anyways.
Before he knew it, he was sitting outside the emergency room reading a newspaper with his five kids sitting next to him. Fiona and Stephen were doing their homework. Hotch was, for the third time, giving his lecture out to the next kid who could understand his lecture about childbirth and Zach couldn’t look anymore fascinated. Emma was sleeping on his lap and Phineas was hanging onto his leg.
“Congratulations, Mr. Reid,” the doctor greeted as he came out.
Spencer stood up, folding his newspaper and corrected quietly, “Dr… Dr. Reid. How is my wife? Is she alright? And our child?”
“She’s quite alright. They’re both alright. But you should know, Dr. Reid, I’m rather envy of your household now.” The doctor grinned, seemingly rather sinister. Spencer couldn’t help twitching.
“Oh? How so?” When the grin on the doctor’s face widened, Spencer felt the color slip from his face. Dear god. Don’t tell—He pushed past the doctor into the room and his eyes could only roll up towards the heaven from the terror they met.
You, quite oblivious to his state, could only chirp when he came in, “Look, Spence, twins! Tell the kids to come in so they can see their new brothers.”
Needless to say, the second time around, you really couldn’t question his performance. While he was slightly more tamed now, and perhaps less enthusiastic due to baby Stephen grabbing all of his attention, he was certainly still the ideal husband. Fiona, much to Stephen’s dismay, seemed to be the jewel of his eyes the moment she left your womb.
Now the third time around, Spencer was all jittery. With two young babes hanging onto his legs and your stomach outrageously large, he daren’t ask if you were carrying twins. However, the size of your stomach implied nothing else. Nonetheless, Spencer was troubled. Even Morgan pointed the problem out. You, his wife, would never stay “un-pregnant” for long. He would have barely painted the kids’ rooms before you would come to him with news of another child. He could only waste away a sigh while his mother chuckled proudly over the phone when he relayed the news to her. Why would she care anyways? She was getting grandchildren and didn’t have to lift a finger. He couldn’t stay away from you anyways.
Before he knew it, he was sitting outside the emergency room reading a newspaper with his five kids sitting next to him. Fiona and Stephen were doing their homework. Hotch was, for the third time, giving his lecture out to the next kid who could understand his lecture about childbirth and Zach couldn’t look anymore fascinated. Emma was sleeping on his lap and Phineas was hanging onto his leg.
“Congratulations, Mr. Reid,” the doctor greeted as he came out.
Spencer stood up, folding his newspaper and corrected quietly, “Dr… Dr. Reid. How is my wife? Is she alright? And our child?”
“She’s quite alright. They’re both alright. But you should know, Dr. Reid, I’m rather envy of your household now.” The doctor grinned, seemingly rather sinister. Spencer couldn’t help twitching.
“Oh? How so?” When the grin on the doctor’s face widened, Spencer felt the color slip from his face. Dear god. Don’t tell—He pushed past the doctor into the room and his eyes could only roll up towards the heaven from the terror they met.
You, quite oblivious to his state, could only chirp when he came in, “Look, Spence, twins! Tell the kids to come in so they can see their new brothers.”
80
Spencer grew red at the puzzled expression on your face. Oh, the audacity! After he practically humiliated himself to everyone at the BAU by singing, terribly off-key, to you, all you did was stand there and blink at him. Time probably stopped, as everyone remained frozen even after he drained the last note of ‘Endless Love.’ Dear god, he could never live down the way JJ burst into laughter and walked off mumbling ‘Oh dear, how I miss working here.’
Did you exercise yourself in the same manner that he did? By humiliating yourself to make him happy? Of course not! You merely cupped his face in your hands and kissed him on the lips, grinning widely as you thanked him for such a lovely show. And was he able to stay mad at you? Of course not! Suddenly your eyes latched onto the ground. It was already too late when Spencer realized what you were looking at.
“Oh, Spencer, if you wanted to propose to me, all you had to do was ask!”
Did you exercise yourself in the same manner that he did? By humiliating yourself to make him happy? Of course not! You merely cupped his face in your hands and kissed him on the lips, grinning widely as you thanked him for such a lovely show. And was he able to stay mad at you? Of course not! Suddenly your eyes latched onto the ground. It was already too late when Spencer realized what you were looking at.
“Oh, Spencer, if you wanted to propose to me, all you had to do was ask!”
81
You were completely engrossed in whatever you were reading. Pride and Prejudice. Spencer smiled when he realized that it would be the type of book you’d read. He tapped his fingers on the counter impatiently, waiting for his coffee, and glanced out towards the street where Morgan was sitting in his car. Good god, he couldn’t imagine what compelled him to agree to Morgan’s crazy plan in the first place. He shouldn’t have mentioned you, the girl who sat by the window everyday at noon, reading a different book everyday during your lunch break.
Spencer never knew what type of girl he preferred, but every time he looked at you and the way your black-rimmed glasses had slid to the tip of your nose, barely hanging on because you were too interested in the words on the page. His heart always beat a little bit harder every time you would bite your lips or lick them when you would read an interesting part. Well, sure, he could probably be finished with the book by the time lunch ended, but he always savored the pout on your face when your cellphone’s alarm would faithfully announce the end of your lunch time.
Heavens, he felt like one of those stalkers he was trained to catch. He knew your name and, because you had met one of your old friends one day, even your phone number. He daren’t put it in his phone though, for safety in case he would ever be graced with the chance to really meet you and get your phone number. He wouldn’t ever want to run into the possibility of him blurting out the fact that he already knew your number. Dear heavens, even if it wasn’t in his phone, he still had that chance. Dear god, forget the number, Spencer!
He snapped out of his thoughts when his coffee came and when he glanced outside again, Morgan offered him a thumbs up. Action, that was what it meant. When you turned a page in your book, Spencer swallowed. Screw it, he thought has he turned towards the door. Morgan raised an eyebrow at him from his car, hitting some button that made it known to Spencer that dear Morgan had locked the door to the only transportation he had to the BAU headquarters. No trouble, he could walk. When Morgan reached forward, presumably to turn the keys, Spencer was sure that the older man would not hesitate to run him over for backing out on something like this.
So Spencer walked towards you, sitting down before he remembered to ask, “Uh… is someone sitting here?”
You raised your eyes from your book and blinked, shaking your head before moving your phone to give him space to place his coffee down. Spencer did so, folding his arms in front of him. Wow, he hasn’t been this close to you before and it didn’t get better. Part of him hoped that you didn’t look as pretty up close. Maybe if you didn’t--
He snapped his head outside when Morgan honked the car, a clear look of impatience on his face. You, however, were oblivious to the entire conversation of silence. Oh screw it, it was now or never.
“Hi, my name is Spencer Reid.”
Spencer never knew what type of girl he preferred, but every time he looked at you and the way your black-rimmed glasses had slid to the tip of your nose, barely hanging on because you were too interested in the words on the page. His heart always beat a little bit harder every time you would bite your lips or lick them when you would read an interesting part. Well, sure, he could probably be finished with the book by the time lunch ended, but he always savored the pout on your face when your cellphone’s alarm would faithfully announce the end of your lunch time.
Heavens, he felt like one of those stalkers he was trained to catch. He knew your name and, because you had met one of your old friends one day, even your phone number. He daren’t put it in his phone though, for safety in case he would ever be graced with the chance to really meet you and get your phone number. He wouldn’t ever want to run into the possibility of him blurting out the fact that he already knew your number. Dear heavens, even if it wasn’t in his phone, he still had that chance. Dear god, forget the number, Spencer!
He snapped out of his thoughts when his coffee came and when he glanced outside again, Morgan offered him a thumbs up. Action, that was what it meant. When you turned a page in your book, Spencer swallowed. Screw it, he thought has he turned towards the door. Morgan raised an eyebrow at him from his car, hitting some button that made it known to Spencer that dear Morgan had locked the door to the only transportation he had to the BAU headquarters. No trouble, he could walk. When Morgan reached forward, presumably to turn the keys, Spencer was sure that the older man would not hesitate to run him over for backing out on something like this.
So Spencer walked towards you, sitting down before he remembered to ask, “Uh… is someone sitting here?”
You raised your eyes from your book and blinked, shaking your head before moving your phone to give him space to place his coffee down. Spencer did so, folding his arms in front of him. Wow, he hasn’t been this close to you before and it didn’t get better. Part of him hoped that you didn’t look as pretty up close. Maybe if you didn’t--
He snapped his head outside when Morgan honked the car, a clear look of impatience on his face. You, however, were oblivious to the entire conversation of silence. Oh screw it, it was now or never.
“Hi, my name is Spencer Reid.”
82
“I’ve been thinking about our relationship…” Spencer started slowly, clearing his throat. “I know that you wanted to wait, but at the same time you said you didn’t mind… now, don’t think I’m rushing you, I certainly don’t mind waiting… I just think that at this stage in our relationship, the two of us love each other enough to understand that we will both be happy whether or not we are bounded by a legal document.”
Spencer eyed the expression of impatience spreading over the person in front of him. He felt himself going red and hot around the neck. Damnit. He hated being nervous.
“What I mean to say is… I know it’s every woman’s dream, well not every woman’s… but you’ve made it known that it was at least one of your dreams… so I know that it is your dream to get married one day. And it’s just as well that I’m thinking about settling down, and to put our relationship of six years into consideration… I don’t think there is anyone else that I would rather spend my life with…”
He inhaled and exhaled deeply. Was that a hint of a smile? Well, this was certainly getting easier. He got on one knee and pulled the hand towards him.
“And so, I think you know what I want to say, but it’s only proper that I officially say it… So here it goes… Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
Spencer held his breath, watching the unreadable expression of his boss remain rather unreadable. What was that supposed to mean? He wanted to ask, but he didn’t need to. Hotch nodded slightly, responding, “I think that should be acceptable. My sister isn’t too picky. Though I would advise cutting off the first five minutes of your declaration so you can get to the point, she has always loved romantic speeches.”
“Oh… thanks,” Spencer murmured. At least the worst was almost over.
And just when it couldn’t get worst, his girlfriend’s voice appeared quite suddenly, as if you had teleported into the hallway rather than walked down it. Nonetheless, nothing could have prepared the two rather straight men for their sister/girlfriend to barge through the door holding a bunch of papers. “Hey Aaron, I need you to sign… something…”
You blinked at the sight in front of you. Your boyfriend on one knee, holding your brother/boss’s hand and… was this when you were supposed to pretend you didn’t see anything and leave the room? You bit your lips inwardly, damn though, you really needed him to sign these papers. You glanced down at the papers and then at your brother, realizing that in that short amount of time you had decided already: “Um… continue what you’re doing, I’ll just forge your signature.”
Without another word, you slammed the door shut behind you and let out a squeal before running off to report the news to Garcia.
Spencer eyed the expression of impatience spreading over the person in front of him. He felt himself going red and hot around the neck. Damnit. He hated being nervous.
“What I mean to say is… I know it’s every woman’s dream, well not every woman’s… but you’ve made it known that it was at least one of your dreams… so I know that it is your dream to get married one day. And it’s just as well that I’m thinking about settling down, and to put our relationship of six years into consideration… I don’t think there is anyone else that I would rather spend my life with…”
He inhaled and exhaled deeply. Was that a hint of a smile? Well, this was certainly getting easier. He got on one knee and pulled the hand towards him.
“And so, I think you know what I want to say, but it’s only proper that I officially say it… So here it goes… Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
Spencer held his breath, watching the unreadable expression of his boss remain rather unreadable. What was that supposed to mean? He wanted to ask, but he didn’t need to. Hotch nodded slightly, responding, “I think that should be acceptable. My sister isn’t too picky. Though I would advise cutting off the first five minutes of your declaration so you can get to the point, she has always loved romantic speeches.”
“Oh… thanks,” Spencer murmured. At least the worst was almost over.
And just when it couldn’t get worst, his girlfriend’s voice appeared quite suddenly, as if you had teleported into the hallway rather than walked down it. Nonetheless, nothing could have prepared the two rather straight men for their sister/girlfriend to barge through the door holding a bunch of papers. “Hey Aaron, I need you to sign… something…”
You blinked at the sight in front of you. Your boyfriend on one knee, holding your brother/boss’s hand and… was this when you were supposed to pretend you didn’t see anything and leave the room? You bit your lips inwardly, damn though, you really needed him to sign these papers. You glanced down at the papers and then at your brother, realizing that in that short amount of time you had decided already: “Um… continue what you’re doing, I’ll just forge your signature.”
Without another word, you slammed the door shut behind you and let out a squeal before running off to report the news to Garcia.
83
Had his eyes been opened, he would have seen the most genuine smile that has ever graced your expressions. Scarlet lips, red like blood, and half-lidded eyes with the deepest of depths, hooded by silk lashes formed the picture of utmost innocence that could be completed by nothing other than pale cheeks flushed with pink.
Toxicate me now. I think I’m ready now.
Kisses as soft as feathers upon his forehead, his closed eyes, his cherub-shaped lips, and his heart. Heated touches trailing down his cheeks, his shoulders, his chest, and you stopped, a mischievous smile appearing when he groaned softly. His eyes opened slowly, revealing the darkest shades of the ocean, and you blew against his ears, whispering the softest words, “Good night, darling.”
The blade slid in and left, bearing little to no evidence of its victim save the blood that followed when it exited the wound. He stared at you, wide-eyed horror, shocked, but no sound left his open mouth. You touched the stitches that lined his neck, kissing them one by one, apologizing that what was done must be done. You brought his wrist to your lips and kissed it, meeting his eyes with a silent promise.
Forever.
The blade slid across his skin, slicing it cleanly before the scarlet liquid flowered his pale skinny wrist. You laid it gently against the bed, allowing the white china cup to catch each drop when you left his side. You walk to the vanity, smiling when his eyes closed slowly. You painted your lips, a dark velvet red, until it was red like a dying rose against white silk. Then you came back to you, brushing your hand against his cheeks while he sighed softly.
And when he breathed his last breath, you pressed your lips against his forehead and pulled back slowly, marveling at the pale shade of red that rested against his skin in the form of your lips.
Toxicate me now. I think I’m ready now.
Kisses as soft as feathers upon his forehead, his closed eyes, his cherub-shaped lips, and his heart. Heated touches trailing down his cheeks, his shoulders, his chest, and you stopped, a mischievous smile appearing when he groaned softly. His eyes opened slowly, revealing the darkest shades of the ocean, and you blew against his ears, whispering the softest words, “Good night, darling.”
The blade slid in and left, bearing little to no evidence of its victim save the blood that followed when it exited the wound. He stared at you, wide-eyed horror, shocked, but no sound left his open mouth. You touched the stitches that lined his neck, kissing them one by one, apologizing that what was done must be done. You brought his wrist to your lips and kissed it, meeting his eyes with a silent promise.
Forever.
The blade slid across his skin, slicing it cleanly before the scarlet liquid flowered his pale skinny wrist. You laid it gently against the bed, allowing the white china cup to catch each drop when you left his side. You walk to the vanity, smiling when his eyes closed slowly. You painted your lips, a dark velvet red, until it was red like a dying rose against white silk. Then you came back to you, brushing your hand against his cheeks while he sighed softly.
And when he breathed his last breath, you pressed your lips against his forehead and pulled back slowly, marveling at the pale shade of red that rested against his skin in the form of your lips.
84
On some days, Spencer mused when he would wake up to the sleepy smile on your lips, he wondered how he managed to live most of his life without you.
85
It was eight o’clock in the morning when the victim was found. Dead in his apartment. Bleed to death with his blood overflowing in a teacup. They swabbed the DNA from the lip prints on his forehead and the fingerprints found on his skin but no results came up. Spencer leaned back against his chair, furrowing his eyebrows in deep thought.
Six men dead. No signs of struggle. A clean incision along the throat where the voice box had been removed. Another at the wrist to sever the radial artery that named to be the cause of death. A kiss on the forehead so red that it could almost be mistaken for blood. Blond strands of hair have been found at the crime scenes, leading to a dead hair donor who has passed away. No apparent connection was found between the six men other than the fact that they shared the same gender.
Rodney Anderson
Eugene Donalds
Xavier Rodriguez
Nelson Smith
Thomas Grant
Upton Johnson
These men varied in age, size, and occupation. Some were married and others were not. The only other thing they had in common was that their lives had been cut too short. Spencer breathed out a sigh before writing the names down to look up their family members later. It was only then that he saw it. His eyes grew wide and large at the revelation. Somehow he knew it was for him and only him.
Upton Johnson
Rodney Anderson
Nelson Smith
Eugene Donalds
Xavier Rodriguez
Thomas Grant
Suddenly he couldn’t breathe. Spencer looked around the room to see everyone else at work, and somehow they all seemed to have faded out into the background. His heart was pounding against his chest, loudly, dangerously, and if the phone hadn’t rang, it probably would have killed him. Hoarsely, he answered softly, “Spencer Reid.”
Your voice greeted him on the other line, full of concern. “Spence? Are you feeling alright, baby?”
“I’m fine. Just a little stressed out about the case, that’s all.” He cleared his throat, trying to find the comfort in your voice. You laughed, the sound settling warmly into his ears, making him forget, only temporarily, the threat that was staring at him in the face. “How was your day?”
“It was okay, Betty talked my ears off and I couldn’t wait to get away. I called you to ask whether you wanted pasta or spaghetti. I’m at the store right now.” You shifted your phone slightly, reading the options to him.
Spencer chuckled, playing with the golden band on his finger, “Whatever is fine with me.” At the reprimanding whine on the other line, he laughed again before deciding, “Fine, fine, make some pasta. I’ll see you at home, okay?”
“I’ll see you at seven?”
“Seven,” he promised.
When you hung up, he was left with that cold feeling of void again. He stared at the names on the page again before glancing at the faces of the men in the picture. Only then did he see it. The pale skin, the prominent cheek bones, the shape of their lips, their noses, their ears. It was all but obvious. They suddenly looked like him and for a split second, they were him.
U R NEXT.
Six men dead. No signs of struggle. A clean incision along the throat where the voice box had been removed. Another at the wrist to sever the radial artery that named to be the cause of death. A kiss on the forehead so red that it could almost be mistaken for blood. Blond strands of hair have been found at the crime scenes, leading to a dead hair donor who has passed away. No apparent connection was found between the six men other than the fact that they shared the same gender.
Rodney Anderson
Eugene Donalds
Xavier Rodriguez
Nelson Smith
Thomas Grant
Upton Johnson
These men varied in age, size, and occupation. Some were married and others were not. The only other thing they had in common was that their lives had been cut too short. Spencer breathed out a sigh before writing the names down to look up their family members later. It was only then that he saw it. His eyes grew wide and large at the revelation. Somehow he knew it was for him and only him.
Upton Johnson
Rodney Anderson
Nelson Smith
Eugene Donalds
Xavier Rodriguez
Thomas Grant
Suddenly he couldn’t breathe. Spencer looked around the room to see everyone else at work, and somehow they all seemed to have faded out into the background. His heart was pounding against his chest, loudly, dangerously, and if the phone hadn’t rang, it probably would have killed him. Hoarsely, he answered softly, “Spencer Reid.”
Your voice greeted him on the other line, full of concern. “Spence? Are you feeling alright, baby?”
“I’m fine. Just a little stressed out about the case, that’s all.” He cleared his throat, trying to find the comfort in your voice. You laughed, the sound settling warmly into his ears, making him forget, only temporarily, the threat that was staring at him in the face. “How was your day?”
“It was okay, Betty talked my ears off and I couldn’t wait to get away. I called you to ask whether you wanted pasta or spaghetti. I’m at the store right now.” You shifted your phone slightly, reading the options to him.
Spencer chuckled, playing with the golden band on his finger, “Whatever is fine with me.” At the reprimanding whine on the other line, he laughed again before deciding, “Fine, fine, make some pasta. I’ll see you at home, okay?”
“I’ll see you at seven?”
“Seven,” he promised.
When you hung up, he was left with that cold feeling of void again. He stared at the names on the page again before glancing at the faces of the men in the picture. Only then did he see it. The pale skin, the prominent cheek bones, the shape of their lips, their noses, their ears. It was all but obvious. They suddenly looked like him and for a split second, they were him.
U R NEXT.
86
The room was eerily quiet save the slow beeps and the silent weeping that could not even begin to describe the sadness that would befall the people standing in there. The air smelled of death and there was nothing--no bouquet of flowers or anything--anyone could do to drive it away.
Spencer tried not to cry, but his lips quivered as he held onto your hands. You were breathing with the aid of a machine because your lungs are starting to grow weary and your eyes were half-lidded, giving you the appearance of exhaustion. He knew otherwise, however. He knew that two days ago, you were speaking to him, in your clear bell-like voice, narrating this wonderful dream that you had. That you would finally be able to walk through the house that the two of you had bought before you were hit by this treacherous disease and see that every single detail he had described to you was true. He knew that you would be the last person to give up on life and it's wonders even if he had dissected everything into something logical and rational. The fogged up oxygen mask covered half of your face, but he knew you were smiling at him as you weakly returned his grasp.
The soft click of the door indicated that it was time. The doctor said that Spencer could stay for this moment and that everyone else had to leave. They whispered their goodbyes to you, their dear friends. The BAU team had come to see you as their close friends long before Spencer and you had gotten married and had insisted upon your meeting based on the mere reason that you would lighten up the scientist. Oh how right they had been. You strained a weak smile at them, and it hurt. It hurt that so many years together had to be summed up with a faltering smile because you couldn't help it.
The door finally closed and you spied the tear sliding down your beloved's cheeks. You wanted to reach up and brush it away. You wanted to kiss him and tell him that everything will be okay. But it wasn't. It was over for you after the first miscarriage and now you couldn't leave anything behind for him.
"I love you," he whispered, caressing your cheek. Your healthy tan was now a deathly pale and the silky strands of hair your husband used to love running his hands through were now limp strings, hanging from your head. And yet, your heart swelled when he murmured next to your ears, "You're beautiful."
You strained another smile at him, trying not to let him see that life was slowly slipping away from you, but he did. Spencer felt the very life seep away from him when he could no longer feel your grip. He squeezed harder, trying to reassure himself that you were giving into moments of respite as you had earlier from exerting your strength, but he could never feel your grip return. The monitor slowed its beep and he imagined it was time, slowing down so that he could remember this last moment with you.
Tragedy could not come close to describe this. You were so young, at the prime of your years. It was unfair that you had to be taken from him. Spencer tried not to cry, because he didn't want his vision to blur away the last moments of your life. Your breaths grew raspy and slow and weak and finally your eyes moved downward, gesturing to the mask.
You would die, he knew, either way you would die. You were both being selfish. You because you were forcing him to accept your death by singlehandedly making him take away your only life force. He because he wanted to remember every single detail of you before you leave him. The mask left your face and the monitor slowed down even more. Your chest moved up and down heavily, exerting itself due to the loss of the aid. Your lips quivered until the corners jerkily picked themselves up.
He couldn't do it. He couldn't make himself do it. Spencer closed his eyes, blinking the tears away and the image of your final smile so that all he could see, all he could hear were your smiles and laughter from before these ill-gotten moments. The monitor beeped one single beep and he let out a sob, bringing your hands to his face, searching for any sign of warmth.
You were gone and all he wanted to hear was goodbye.
Spencer tried not to cry, but his lips quivered as he held onto your hands. You were breathing with the aid of a machine because your lungs are starting to grow weary and your eyes were half-lidded, giving you the appearance of exhaustion. He knew otherwise, however. He knew that two days ago, you were speaking to him, in your clear bell-like voice, narrating this wonderful dream that you had. That you would finally be able to walk through the house that the two of you had bought before you were hit by this treacherous disease and see that every single detail he had described to you was true. He knew that you would be the last person to give up on life and it's wonders even if he had dissected everything into something logical and rational. The fogged up oxygen mask covered half of your face, but he knew you were smiling at him as you weakly returned his grasp.
The soft click of the door indicated that it was time. The doctor said that Spencer could stay for this moment and that everyone else had to leave. They whispered their goodbyes to you, their dear friends. The BAU team had come to see you as their close friends long before Spencer and you had gotten married and had insisted upon your meeting based on the mere reason that you would lighten up the scientist. Oh how right they had been. You strained a weak smile at them, and it hurt. It hurt that so many years together had to be summed up with a faltering smile because you couldn't help it.
The door finally closed and you spied the tear sliding down your beloved's cheeks. You wanted to reach up and brush it away. You wanted to kiss him and tell him that everything will be okay. But it wasn't. It was over for you after the first miscarriage and now you couldn't leave anything behind for him.
"I love you," he whispered, caressing your cheek. Your healthy tan was now a deathly pale and the silky strands of hair your husband used to love running his hands through were now limp strings, hanging from your head. And yet, your heart swelled when he murmured next to your ears, "You're beautiful."
You strained another smile at him, trying not to let him see that life was slowly slipping away from you, but he did. Spencer felt the very life seep away from him when he could no longer feel your grip. He squeezed harder, trying to reassure himself that you were giving into moments of respite as you had earlier from exerting your strength, but he could never feel your grip return. The monitor slowed its beep and he imagined it was time, slowing down so that he could remember this last moment with you.
Tragedy could not come close to describe this. You were so young, at the prime of your years. It was unfair that you had to be taken from him. Spencer tried not to cry, because he didn't want his vision to blur away the last moments of your life. Your breaths grew raspy and slow and weak and finally your eyes moved downward, gesturing to the mask.
You would die, he knew, either way you would die. You were both being selfish. You because you were forcing him to accept your death by singlehandedly making him take away your only life force. He because he wanted to remember every single detail of you before you leave him. The mask left your face and the monitor slowed down even more. Your chest moved up and down heavily, exerting itself due to the loss of the aid. Your lips quivered until the corners jerkily picked themselves up.
He couldn't do it. He couldn't make himself do it. Spencer closed his eyes, blinking the tears away and the image of your final smile so that all he could see, all he could hear were your smiles and laughter from before these ill-gotten moments. The monitor beeped one single beep and he let out a sob, bringing your hands to his face, searching for any sign of warmth.
You were gone and all he wanted to hear was goodbye.
87
It was almost two months before he received your postcard, noting where you'd be. There were no words on the back, save the return address that would indicate your temporary residence. There were no need for words for the picture had said all that needed to be said. It was saying what you've been saying ever since he knew of your feelings: "I'm waiting."
He stated at it, knowing that sitting in his chair at the office was the last place he wanted to be at be moment, but what would he do? What would he say to you? It seemed like you had the answer to everything and was more than determined to watch him struggle through it all.
"Reid." Hotch's voice provided a brief respite from his turmoil. Spencer diverted his eyes from the picture and listened to his boss's words, "Be sure to send me a copy of your report."
"Will do," Spencer replied.
"Thank you," the older man directed his gaze toward the picture in the scientist's hands and said softly, "Take a day off, will you?"
He stated at it, knowing that sitting in his chair at the office was the last place he wanted to be at be moment, but what would he do? What would he say to you? It seemed like you had the answer to everything and was more than determined to watch him struggle through it all.
"Reid." Hotch's voice provided a brief respite from his turmoil. Spencer diverted his eyes from the picture and listened to his boss's words, "Be sure to send me a copy of your report."
"Will do," Spencer replied.
"Thank you," the older man directed his gaze toward the picture in the scientist's hands and said softly, "Take a day off, will you?"
88
The knife licked at the tender raw meat before it sliced cleanly through it and scraped the cutting board. The rising sun focused on the uncooked steak, making it blood red and something much more beast-like. Click! Bright blue flames flicker into life underneath the stove top and soon a frying pan was placed over it and drizzled with oil. The slices of beef were soon spread unto the pan, sizzling as they browned.
However much they cooked to brown themselves up, their blood still remained on the cutting board on which they were prepared. And when they were finished, the stove turned off and the meal was prepared. You sat down at the dining table, licking your lips after blowing on the first bite of your meal to cool it down. When it did, you popped it into your mouth, marveling at the taste of invisible blood.
Cooked to perfection.
You were so carried away with the food that you only remembered when you caught sight of the wedding band on your finger. You stood up quickly, making your way into the master bedroom and calling to your beloved, “Spencer, it's time for breakfast! I hope you're not waking up late again.”
When he didn't stir, a smile was drawn to your lips, bringing you closer to him. As you passed the drawer, you picked up the knife you had left laying there yesterday night and clenched it between your fingers. “Spencer, dear,” you whispered, “It's almost time for work.”
He stirred lightly, eyes moving rapidly behind his eyelids as they struggle to blink away their state of drudgery. Every part of his muscles ached and he couldn't remember why. The sound of your voice drifted in and out of his hearing and for some reason, all he could think about was... nothing at all.
You drew your hand along his chest, marveling at how fit and firm your husband has become after working in the BAU and what a shame it would be to—well, what a shame. “Spencer,” you hummed, “Wake up or I'll... do something very naughty to you.”
A soft groan left his lips. He was too tired to open his eyes, let alone move. All he could do was lie there and let your hands wander about his chest. He wanted to do something, but he couldn't. The mischievous tone in your voice sent chills down his spine and he didn't know why.
“One...” you draped the cold stainless steel upon his arm, “two...” it slid down, slowly as it reached his wrist, “Oops.” A thin slice of red appeared at his wrist and Spencer jerked to life. His eyes widened in horror as he remembered everything from last night and there you were, grinning at him and chirping so cheerily, “Morning, love.”
However much they cooked to brown themselves up, their blood still remained on the cutting board on which they were prepared. And when they were finished, the stove turned off and the meal was prepared. You sat down at the dining table, licking your lips after blowing on the first bite of your meal to cool it down. When it did, you popped it into your mouth, marveling at the taste of invisible blood.
Cooked to perfection.
You were so carried away with the food that you only remembered when you caught sight of the wedding band on your finger. You stood up quickly, making your way into the master bedroom and calling to your beloved, “Spencer, it's time for breakfast! I hope you're not waking up late again.”
When he didn't stir, a smile was drawn to your lips, bringing you closer to him. As you passed the drawer, you picked up the knife you had left laying there yesterday night and clenched it between your fingers. “Spencer, dear,” you whispered, “It's almost time for work.”
He stirred lightly, eyes moving rapidly behind his eyelids as they struggle to blink away their state of drudgery. Every part of his muscles ached and he couldn't remember why. The sound of your voice drifted in and out of his hearing and for some reason, all he could think about was... nothing at all.
You drew your hand along his chest, marveling at how fit and firm your husband has become after working in the BAU and what a shame it would be to—well, what a shame. “Spencer,” you hummed, “Wake up or I'll... do something very naughty to you.”
A soft groan left his lips. He was too tired to open his eyes, let alone move. All he could do was lie there and let your hands wander about his chest. He wanted to do something, but he couldn't. The mischievous tone in your voice sent chills down his spine and he didn't know why.
“One...” you draped the cold stainless steel upon his arm, “two...” it slid down, slowly as it reached his wrist, “Oops.” A thin slice of red appeared at his wrist and Spencer jerked to life. His eyes widened in horror as he remembered everything from last night and there you were, grinning at him and chirping so cheerily, “Morning, love.”
89
Shhhhhhh!
Spencer stared disapprovingly to his girlfriend, who was giggling under her breath, hiding behind the hard covers of Astronomy: Introduction to Space Science while the librarian, for the umpteenth time, was hushing them for being too loud. [Your name]'s eyes darted back and forth mischievously before she launched a missile at him from under the table. Spencer jumped as the piece of paper hits his forehead and quickly shoved it into his jacket pocket as the librarian turned her attention to them again, clearing her throat as though to say that they were pushing the line very closely to the edge.
The genius shook his head before he set down his copy of Quantum Mechanics: Basics and proceeded to unfold the note. Inside were the words: “Tell me something interesting.”
Frowning, he looked up at her and shook his head. She gestured to the paper and prompted herself to launch a pen at her until he held up his, a signal to indicate that such throwing was unnecessary and would probably get them booted from the library for life. “Stonehenge used to be a full circle made out of posts and beams of stones being locked together by notches, much like puzzles. Pieces of it were actually looted by the Romans in order to build their colliseum.”
When he slid the paper back to her, [your name] raised an eyebrow and jotted down in her messy cursive script, “In Israel, every household door actually has two doorbells. One for the women and one for the men.”
“A rhino's horn is made out of keratein, the same material from which our nails and hair are created.”
“Shrimps are what give flamingos their pink feathers. Otherwise, they are normally gray.”
“Weddings are traditionally held in June during the Dark Ages because that's generally when everyone have their annual baths and is at the peak of their hygienic states.”
“The earliest form of a refrigerator is actually a hollowed out mound with a hole cut off at the top. It was created to gather ice in the desert. A hole is dug into the ground and it would have some amount of water that would essentially turn into ice when the atmospheric pressure drops at night.”
Spencer smiled upon reading this interesting fact. He had actually told her this on her birthday when she told him that all she really wanted was to make her own refrigerator and that was what they spent the ENTIRE day doing. [Your name] grinned at him before taking out another piece of paper for when they run out of space.
“Diamonds, while supposedly the hardest rock on earth, will simply vanished when heated at 1405 degrees Fahrenheit and will leave nothing but carbon dioxide.”
“The term rule of thumb comes from the old English law that men couldn't beat their wives with anything wider than their thumb.”
“The male praying mantis cannot copulate while its head is attached to its body; so the female initiates sex by ripping the male's head off.”
Upon reading this, [your name] jumped and let out a small yelp before her eyes met with the librarian, who fiercely whipped her finger towards the front door, indicating that their welcome was over. Spencer sighed and picked up his book to start for the door. When he got outside, he glanced at his watch, wondering what he could do to occupy his time for the next hour before he would have to leave for his meeting. His girlfriend, on the other hand, didn't even seem remorseful upon exiting the library. As a matter of fact, as soon as the door closed, she let out a loud snort of laughter before turning to him and asking, “Were you serious about the praying mantis thing?”
“Dead serious,” he managed to say with a straight face.
[Your name] smiled and tugged on his tie, pulling him towards her into a kiss. “How long until your meeting?”
“In an hour,” he responded, returning the kiss as he placed a hand on her neck.
“Your place or mine?”
Spencer stared disapprovingly to his girlfriend, who was giggling under her breath, hiding behind the hard covers of Astronomy: Introduction to Space Science while the librarian, for the umpteenth time, was hushing them for being too loud. [Your name]'s eyes darted back and forth mischievously before she launched a missile at him from under the table. Spencer jumped as the piece of paper hits his forehead and quickly shoved it into his jacket pocket as the librarian turned her attention to them again, clearing her throat as though to say that they were pushing the line very closely to the edge.
The genius shook his head before he set down his copy of Quantum Mechanics: Basics and proceeded to unfold the note. Inside were the words: “Tell me something interesting.”
Frowning, he looked up at her and shook his head. She gestured to the paper and prompted herself to launch a pen at her until he held up his, a signal to indicate that such throwing was unnecessary and would probably get them booted from the library for life. “Stonehenge used to be a full circle made out of posts and beams of stones being locked together by notches, much like puzzles. Pieces of it were actually looted by the Romans in order to build their colliseum.”
When he slid the paper back to her, [your name] raised an eyebrow and jotted down in her messy cursive script, “In Israel, every household door actually has two doorbells. One for the women and one for the men.”
“A rhino's horn is made out of keratein, the same material from which our nails and hair are created.”
“Shrimps are what give flamingos their pink feathers. Otherwise, they are normally gray.”
“Weddings are traditionally held in June during the Dark Ages because that's generally when everyone have their annual baths and is at the peak of their hygienic states.”
“The earliest form of a refrigerator is actually a hollowed out mound with a hole cut off at the top. It was created to gather ice in the desert. A hole is dug into the ground and it would have some amount of water that would essentially turn into ice when the atmospheric pressure drops at night.”
Spencer smiled upon reading this interesting fact. He had actually told her this on her birthday when she told him that all she really wanted was to make her own refrigerator and that was what they spent the ENTIRE day doing. [Your name] grinned at him before taking out another piece of paper for when they run out of space.
“Diamonds, while supposedly the hardest rock on earth, will simply vanished when heated at 1405 degrees Fahrenheit and will leave nothing but carbon dioxide.”
“The term rule of thumb comes from the old English law that men couldn't beat their wives with anything wider than their thumb.”
“The male praying mantis cannot copulate while its head is attached to its body; so the female initiates sex by ripping the male's head off.”
Upon reading this, [your name] jumped and let out a small yelp before her eyes met with the librarian, who fiercely whipped her finger towards the front door, indicating that their welcome was over. Spencer sighed and picked up his book to start for the door. When he got outside, he glanced at his watch, wondering what he could do to occupy his time for the next hour before he would have to leave for his meeting. His girlfriend, on the other hand, didn't even seem remorseful upon exiting the library. As a matter of fact, as soon as the door closed, she let out a loud snort of laughter before turning to him and asking, “Were you serious about the praying mantis thing?”
“Dead serious,” he managed to say with a straight face.
[Your name] smiled and tugged on his tie, pulling him towards her into a kiss. “How long until your meeting?”
“In an hour,” he responded, returning the kiss as he placed a hand on her neck.
“Your place or mine?”
90
When his knee hit the ground, it was all he could do to bite back a yelp of pain. Instead, he let out a deep silent breath, seething in the agony from the way his skinned knee scraped against the sharp edges of the corn stalk stems. Spencer allowed himself a brief two second repose while shuffling the images through his head. The rumbling of the tractor was roaring in his ears. It was just corn stalks for miles and miles. Who knew when he would reach the closest town?
“Spencer, love, where are you?” called a sing-song voice.
That bitch. Never had he thought he would ever think of someone that way, let alone it be you, his wife. Ex-wife. If he got out of this alive, if you got out of this alive, if both of you got out of this alive, he'd divorce the hell out of you. With a quick mental calculation, he was able to determine where you were and headed in the opposite direction. He had to abandon his cell phone when it was crushed under the wheels of the tractor.
As he ran, his heart pounded loudly and his feet ached with every step he took. Well, at least he was finally getting feeling back into his body. Half an hour later, he was still looking at the same scenery, only this time, he was completely out of breath. It was when the sound of the tractor faded that he allowed himself a chance to rest. Spencer took a deep breath and stole a glance at the sky. The North star was just overhead, that mean he wasn't too far away from the city. Still too far to get there before it was too dark to see, but close enough for him to hopefully find a place to rest before he could head out further.
Spencer started running again about ten minutes later when he heard the sound of the tractor cutting down the stalks. Soon, he was hearing something: wind. The tree leaves were brushing against themselves as the wind blew against them. The clearing was near, he cheered silently. He pushed forward, despite the relentless protest of his lungs. He pushed forward and forward until he nearly collapsed against the soft dirt ground. Spencer took a deep breath and stood up, catching sight of the white car he has bought for you for your birthday.
A mile and a half later, he was climbing in through the open window. That there was no key in the slot didn't stop him. Spencer took a handful of wires from under the steering wheel and started hotwiring. Soon the car was running and turned on. Spencer rejoiced. He was getting the hell out of here. He was finally getting the hell out of here to get back to the BAU and expose you to everyone. He couldn't even stop to feel remorse for the fact that you guys, not two days ago, had been deeply in love. Spencer kicked himself in the midst of that thought. The murders had begun many years ago, that was how long you have stayed under the radar. What was most outrageous was the fact that you had tricked him.
Suddenly the car stalled. The jerky movements of the car slowed to a stop and only when the windows started to roll up by himself did he realize it was all a trap. Spencer jerked on the door handle, panicking when it didn't open. Suddenly he was overwhelmed by a dizzying sensation that called to his attention the subtle scent of chloroform gas being slowly released into the car. He slammed against the car window, weakening with every hit as the glass did not even give way.
And the last thing he saw was your face, a small smile on your lips as you made your way towards him.
Checkmate.
“Spencer, love, where are you?” called a sing-song voice.
That bitch. Never had he thought he would ever think of someone that way, let alone it be you, his wife. Ex-wife. If he got out of this alive, if you got out of this alive, if both of you got out of this alive, he'd divorce the hell out of you. With a quick mental calculation, he was able to determine where you were and headed in the opposite direction. He had to abandon his cell phone when it was crushed under the wheels of the tractor.
As he ran, his heart pounded loudly and his feet ached with every step he took. Well, at least he was finally getting feeling back into his body. Half an hour later, he was still looking at the same scenery, only this time, he was completely out of breath. It was when the sound of the tractor faded that he allowed himself a chance to rest. Spencer took a deep breath and stole a glance at the sky. The North star was just overhead, that mean he wasn't too far away from the city. Still too far to get there before it was too dark to see, but close enough for him to hopefully find a place to rest before he could head out further.
Spencer started running again about ten minutes later when he heard the sound of the tractor cutting down the stalks. Soon, he was hearing something: wind. The tree leaves were brushing against themselves as the wind blew against them. The clearing was near, he cheered silently. He pushed forward, despite the relentless protest of his lungs. He pushed forward and forward until he nearly collapsed against the soft dirt ground. Spencer took a deep breath and stood up, catching sight of the white car he has bought for you for your birthday.
A mile and a half later, he was climbing in through the open window. That there was no key in the slot didn't stop him. Spencer took a handful of wires from under the steering wheel and started hotwiring. Soon the car was running and turned on. Spencer rejoiced. He was getting the hell out of here. He was finally getting the hell out of here to get back to the BAU and expose you to everyone. He couldn't even stop to feel remorse for the fact that you guys, not two days ago, had been deeply in love. Spencer kicked himself in the midst of that thought. The murders had begun many years ago, that was how long you have stayed under the radar. What was most outrageous was the fact that you had tricked him.
Suddenly the car stalled. The jerky movements of the car slowed to a stop and only when the windows started to roll up by himself did he realize it was all a trap. Spencer jerked on the door handle, panicking when it didn't open. Suddenly he was overwhelmed by a dizzying sensation that called to his attention the subtle scent of chloroform gas being slowly released into the car. He slammed against the car window, weakening with every hit as the glass did not even give way.
And the last thing he saw was your face, a small smile on your lips as you made your way towards him.
Checkmate.
91
“This is getting out of hand, [your name].” Garcia was dumping out shirt after shirt onto your bed while she remarked disapprovingly at your appearance, “You and Spencer are both my best friends and the last thing I want to see happen to the two of you is some kind of breakage that would totally bum out the mood for everyone.”
“I'm fine, Garcia, we're taking care of this,” you murmured, sniffling as a result of the cold you had recently acquired due to this emotional obstacle. “Tell Aaron that I'll be in late today. I just need to sleep this cold off.”
“[your name],” she sighed, “Honey, I love you. Don't do this to yourself. Hotch is really worried about you when he got back to town and heard that you haven't been coming to work. Have you talked to Spencer at all?”
You shook your head stubbornly, “There's just... we just need some time away from each other. And seriously, I doubt Aaron is all that worried, he's my older brother.”
“Who said I'm not worried?” Somehow, Hotch had acquired a key to your apartment, probably from the time you lent him a copy when he was fighting with your late sister-in-law. He has been away for a while now on a meeting between the FBI departments regarding budgeting and the trends of cases nowadays. He was essential to seeing psychological patterns of serial killers and patterned occurrences of events. Your brother, handsome as always, walked in and frowned at the scene before him. “What is the meaning of this, [your name]? I heard Reid and you are having relationship problems.”
“Yes,” you responded exasperatedly, “Exactly. Spencer and I are having relationship problems and it's between the two of us. Stay out of it, you guys. I love you guys, but we need to solve this ourselves.”
“[your name], if you claim that this is something the two of you can handle, then why aren't you at work?”
You rolled his eyes at him, probably as the only one who dared to and was allowed to do so, and replied, “Is your hearing working? Can you hear my nose being stuffed up?”
“Garcia,” Aaron beckoned her forward, “You should head on down to the BAU. I will be there recently, I want a word with my sister.” When she has finally left, your brother walked over to you and placed his hands on your shoulder. You sighed, realizing that this wasn't going to be over until you guys really talked. “[your name], tell me what this is all about.”
“I'm fine, Garcia, we're taking care of this,” you murmured, sniffling as a result of the cold you had recently acquired due to this emotional obstacle. “Tell Aaron that I'll be in late today. I just need to sleep this cold off.”
“[your name],” she sighed, “Honey, I love you. Don't do this to yourself. Hotch is really worried about you when he got back to town and heard that you haven't been coming to work. Have you talked to Spencer at all?”
You shook your head stubbornly, “There's just... we just need some time away from each other. And seriously, I doubt Aaron is all that worried, he's my older brother.”
“Who said I'm not worried?” Somehow, Hotch had acquired a key to your apartment, probably from the time you lent him a copy when he was fighting with your late sister-in-law. He has been away for a while now on a meeting between the FBI departments regarding budgeting and the trends of cases nowadays. He was essential to seeing psychological patterns of serial killers and patterned occurrences of events. Your brother, handsome as always, walked in and frowned at the scene before him. “What is the meaning of this, [your name]? I heard Reid and you are having relationship problems.”
“Yes,” you responded exasperatedly, “Exactly. Spencer and I are having relationship problems and it's between the two of us. Stay out of it, you guys. I love you guys, but we need to solve this ourselves.”
“[your name], if you claim that this is something the two of you can handle, then why aren't you at work?”
You rolled his eyes at him, probably as the only one who dared to and was allowed to do so, and replied, “Is your hearing working? Can you hear my nose being stuffed up?”
“Garcia,” Aaron beckoned her forward, “You should head on down to the BAU. I will be there recently, I want a word with my sister.” When she has finally left, your brother walked over to you and placed his hands on your shoulder. You sighed, realizing that this wasn't going to be over until you guys really talked. “[your name], tell me what this is all about.”
92
Lily jumped when the bell jingled at the door opening. It was barely an hour into her first day in charge of her aunt's shop and already there was someone at the door. She swallowed and struggled to smile—last night had been a rough night. She had spent the night watching over her aunt, her only family, after she had gotten into a car accident. She would have never left the hospital had it not been for the visiting hour regulations and the fact that Emma needed someone to run her shop. Lily had been barely going into college when both of her parents lost their lives in a car accident and she moved in with her aunt, who has stretched every bone on her back to help her pay for her education.
“Morning,” smiled the stranger. He waved lightly before stepping to the counter, “The name is Reid.”
Lily nodded, searching the database for his order while allowing herself to glance at him out of the corner of her eyes. He looked handsome, short dirty blond hair mussed up enough to frame his pale face. He was wearing a suit so formal that she wanted to ask him whether or not the flowers were for a special occasion. On his lips sat a close-lipped smile, seemingly deep in thought. When she found his order, she murmured a confirmation, “Pink peonies?”
He nodded, pulling out his wallet to give her his card. As she took the card from him, she tried not to blink at the sight of the gold band on his ring finger. Silently she rang up the order, trying not to let the awkwardness that only she seemed to be feeling overwhelm her on her first day by herself. When she got to the back room, she saw the flowers.
They sat in a white vase, arranged beautifully by her aunt days before her accident. When Lily brought them up, he smiled, thanking her before asking, “Has something happened to Emma?”
So he knew her aunt personally. Lily nodded grimly before responding, “She got into an accident a while back so she's resting in the hospital right now.”
Reid frowned, “That's not good. Could you get me an order of tulips? I remember her saying that she likes them and I'd like to visit her soon.”
Almost at a loss for words, Lily nodded before writing down the order. Reid handed her the card again and only then did she ask, “Did you... did you know my aunt well?”
He shrugged, shifting so that the vase of peonies was on his other arm, “I guess you can say that. I've always gotten these peonies from her, every year. She has always arranged them beautifully and I wanted to thank her.”
“Are those peonies for your wife?” she gestured to the ring.
He smiled with a faraway look before saying, “Yes they are.”
“Morning,” smiled the stranger. He waved lightly before stepping to the counter, “The name is Reid.”
Lily nodded, searching the database for his order while allowing herself to glance at him out of the corner of her eyes. He looked handsome, short dirty blond hair mussed up enough to frame his pale face. He was wearing a suit so formal that she wanted to ask him whether or not the flowers were for a special occasion. On his lips sat a close-lipped smile, seemingly deep in thought. When she found his order, she murmured a confirmation, “Pink peonies?”
He nodded, pulling out his wallet to give her his card. As she took the card from him, she tried not to blink at the sight of the gold band on his ring finger. Silently she rang up the order, trying not to let the awkwardness that only she seemed to be feeling overwhelm her on her first day by herself. When she got to the back room, she saw the flowers.
They sat in a white vase, arranged beautifully by her aunt days before her accident. When Lily brought them up, he smiled, thanking her before asking, “Has something happened to Emma?”
So he knew her aunt personally. Lily nodded grimly before responding, “She got into an accident a while back so she's resting in the hospital right now.”
Reid frowned, “That's not good. Could you get me an order of tulips? I remember her saying that she likes them and I'd like to visit her soon.”
Almost at a loss for words, Lily nodded before writing down the order. Reid handed her the card again and only then did she ask, “Did you... did you know my aunt well?”
He shrugged, shifting so that the vase of peonies was on his other arm, “I guess you can say that. I've always gotten these peonies from her, every year. She has always arranged them beautifully and I wanted to thank her.”
“Are those peonies for your wife?” she gestured to the ring.
He smiled with a faraway look before saying, “Yes they are.”
93
You eyed the mountains below nervously as your boyfriend and you drifted past. While the gesture was very sweet, you wondered if you ever told him how terrified you were of heights and why you neglected to remind him of such a fact when he announced that you would be going for a hot air balloon ride. Maybe it was because the genius was so excited about you seeing the Andes from the sky for the first time, something about him and his obsession with llamas made it so hard for you to refuse him.
“Spencer, it's beautiful,” you commented, wrapping your arms around the coat that BARELY kept you warm. At least it was something to distract you from the fact that you were standing in a tiny basket some thousand feet in the air with your boyfriend. Note to self, no more mountains for a long time.
“You think so?” he smiled, wrapping his arms around your shoulder and pulling you close. “I told you that you'd like it. I was right, see?”
He was so proud of himself that you were afraid to burst his bubble, so you decided not to do it at all. Instead, you leaned him and gave him a kiss before chuckling, “What made you think of this for an anniversary present?”
Maybe next time you'd do something different to make him not participate in activities that scared the living daylights out of you. Spencer's lips curved into a mischievous smile before he recited, as though he were reading a damn paper, “Well, I remember that when we first started dating, you told me you were afraid of heights when Hotch invited you to our mountain climbing trip. So then I thought, well, with what I have in mind, it would probably be best that you have nowhere to run. Coincidentally, Rossi talking about how you used to travel to the Andes because you wanted to analyze the artifacts found in the Peruvian ruins. When I sniffed around and asked Garcia for some tips on vacationing in the Andes, she suggested hot air ballooning... so here we are!”
You blinked, quite speechless at his... speech. Your brain processed the names. Hotch, Rossi, Garcia. If you weren't so damn close to them and your phone had bars—even if it were only one—you would probably call each and every one of them up to lecture them about interfering in your personal life and how they played a part in your about to die in the air from fright. Instead, you decided to do what your counselor had told you to do whenever you didn't have any medication for your resentment issues: count.
Ten... Nine... Eight... “You know, if you like it this much, we can go every year.” ...Ten... Nine... Eight... “After the wedding, we can actually take a vacation and travel on foot around the Andes. From what I've heard, recently there's been an excavation project of an underground cavern supporting a population as big as a village!”
Seven... six... five.. four... Spencer held your hand in his warm ones, “And to think I would be able to wake up next to you every day. What do you like to eat for breakfast?”
One! For god's sakes, the man asked you what you wanted for breakfast! Your jaw dropped until Spencer's recently excited expression turned into one of confusion, “What's wrong? Did I say something wrong?”
“Spencer, it's beautiful,” you commented, wrapping your arms around the coat that BARELY kept you warm. At least it was something to distract you from the fact that you were standing in a tiny basket some thousand feet in the air with your boyfriend. Note to self, no more mountains for a long time.
“You think so?” he smiled, wrapping his arms around your shoulder and pulling you close. “I told you that you'd like it. I was right, see?”
He was so proud of himself that you were afraid to burst his bubble, so you decided not to do it at all. Instead, you leaned him and gave him a kiss before chuckling, “What made you think of this for an anniversary present?”
Maybe next time you'd do something different to make him not participate in activities that scared the living daylights out of you. Spencer's lips curved into a mischievous smile before he recited, as though he were reading a damn paper, “Well, I remember that when we first started dating, you told me you were afraid of heights when Hotch invited you to our mountain climbing trip. So then I thought, well, with what I have in mind, it would probably be best that you have nowhere to run. Coincidentally, Rossi talking about how you used to travel to the Andes because you wanted to analyze the artifacts found in the Peruvian ruins. When I sniffed around and asked Garcia for some tips on vacationing in the Andes, she suggested hot air ballooning... so here we are!”
You blinked, quite speechless at his... speech. Your brain processed the names. Hotch, Rossi, Garcia. If you weren't so damn close to them and your phone had bars—even if it were only one—you would probably call each and every one of them up to lecture them about interfering in your personal life and how they played a part in your about to die in the air from fright. Instead, you decided to do what your counselor had told you to do whenever you didn't have any medication for your resentment issues: count.
Ten... Nine... Eight... “You know, if you like it this much, we can go every year.” ...Ten... Nine... Eight... “After the wedding, we can actually take a vacation and travel on foot around the Andes. From what I've heard, recently there's been an excavation project of an underground cavern supporting a population as big as a village!”
Seven... six... five.. four... Spencer held your hand in his warm ones, “And to think I would be able to wake up next to you every day. What do you like to eat for breakfast?”
One! For god's sakes, the man asked you what you wanted for breakfast! Your jaw dropped until Spencer's recently excited expression turned into one of confusion, “What's wrong? Did I say something wrong?”
94
“What's wrong? Spencer, you just asked me what I like to eat for breakfast,” you notified him of his recent statement, trying to keep your eyes on his face.
“I know the generic format of your usual two eggs and toast, [your name],” he said in an exasperated manner, “I'm talking about the brand of the eggs and toast. I'd hate for you to come to work one day with a stomach ache due to deviation from your normal routine. It's a common occurrence you know.”
“No, Spencer, back track,” you paused to gather your thoughts, “Our wedding? Why are we talking about a wedding? When is this wedding that I don't know about?”
Suddenly his eyes widened before he jumped back, searching in his coat pockets while muttering, “You don't want to marry me?”
You frowned, “Did you not hear what I said? What is this wedding you're talking about?”
“Oh!” After a moment of realization, your genius shut his eyes in frustration and let out a soft, 'I forgot to propose to you, sorry.”
You sank back on your heels with a silent 'oh' before looking anywhere on the hot air balloon but him, oblivious to the scenery passing you by—you could have passed by a friggin dragon and not give a damn. “So then... now what?”
Spencer cleared his throat and licked his dry lips, taking this second chance with the eagerness of a starving man before pulling the velvet box out of his pocket. “Will you marry me?”
You rolled your eyes and said, “Of course, now put the damn ring on my finger.”
He laughed. Somehow this anniversary has become the most memorable one you guys have had. Spencer pulled the ring from its box and you eyed his shaking hands with dismay. Somehow what happened next didn't seem so abnormal. It was as though you saw it through a vision and waited until the moment it actually happened to warn your boyfriend, now almost-to-be fiance, to not drop the damn ring so that it would fall somewhere over the Andes.
“I know the generic format of your usual two eggs and toast, [your name],” he said in an exasperated manner, “I'm talking about the brand of the eggs and toast. I'd hate for you to come to work one day with a stomach ache due to deviation from your normal routine. It's a common occurrence you know.”
“No, Spencer, back track,” you paused to gather your thoughts, “Our wedding? Why are we talking about a wedding? When is this wedding that I don't know about?”
Suddenly his eyes widened before he jumped back, searching in his coat pockets while muttering, “You don't want to marry me?”
You frowned, “Did you not hear what I said? What is this wedding you're talking about?”
“Oh!” After a moment of realization, your genius shut his eyes in frustration and let out a soft, 'I forgot to propose to you, sorry.”
You sank back on your heels with a silent 'oh' before looking anywhere on the hot air balloon but him, oblivious to the scenery passing you by—you could have passed by a friggin dragon and not give a damn. “So then... now what?”
Spencer cleared his throat and licked his dry lips, taking this second chance with the eagerness of a starving man before pulling the velvet box out of his pocket. “Will you marry me?”
You rolled your eyes and said, “Of course, now put the damn ring on my finger.”
He laughed. Somehow this anniversary has become the most memorable one you guys have had. Spencer pulled the ring from its box and you eyed his shaking hands with dismay. Somehow what happened next didn't seem so abnormal. It was as though you saw it through a vision and waited until the moment it actually happened to warn your boyfriend, now almost-to-be fiance, to not drop the damn ring so that it would fall somewhere over the Andes.
95
After what seemed like the fiftieth time you poked your head up from your desk to scan the room for your colleagues, you finally groaned in frustration and stood up. Who the hell took hour-long lunches anymore? Did these people think Hotch wouldn't notice? Not that, of course, you would tattle to your older brother, but surely they knew to take turns! Then there was Spencer! You glared at his desk, sending scathing waves of why-the-hell-did-he-leave-on-a-case-without-telling-you-a-week-before-your-birthday-and-not-to-mention-you-had-gotten-into-a-fight-earlier-that-week resentment.
As if your older brother had timed that precise moment for his own amusement to catch you acting crazy in the middle of working, the door to his office opened. When you caught his eyes, he raised an eyebrow at you, as though asking, “What in the world are you doing?”
As an attempt to salvage any appearance of sanity left—not that he thought much of your sanity in the first place, having grown up with you and all—you cleared your throat and nodded at him, “Finished your lunch?”
“I did. Stick around after the clock,” he started to close his door until, much to your scrutiny, he suddenly cleared his throat and pushed the door opened again to look around the room, “Where is everyone else?”
Normally you would let that slide, but after a month of working at the BAU, you were already noticing and pointing out people's fibs by the way they fidget (that was why you were always sitting in during interrogations). Now that it has been a year, you were unstoppable and not even King Hotch could do anything about that. So there you were, hands on your hips as your lips twisted in a frown in the midst of your demand: “Aaron Hotchner, do you think I'm going to buy that bullshit from you?”
As if your older brother had timed that precise moment for his own amusement to catch you acting crazy in the middle of working, the door to his office opened. When you caught his eyes, he raised an eyebrow at you, as though asking, “What in the world are you doing?”
As an attempt to salvage any appearance of sanity left—not that he thought much of your sanity in the first place, having grown up with you and all—you cleared your throat and nodded at him, “Finished your lunch?”
“I did. Stick around after the clock,” he started to close his door until, much to your scrutiny, he suddenly cleared his throat and pushed the door opened again to look around the room, “Where is everyone else?”
Normally you would let that slide, but after a month of working at the BAU, you were already noticing and pointing out people's fibs by the way they fidget (that was why you were always sitting in during interrogations). Now that it has been a year, you were unstoppable and not even King Hotch could do anything about that. So there you were, hands on your hips as your lips twisted in a frown in the midst of your demand: “Aaron Hotchner, do you think I'm going to buy that bullshit from you?”
96
He saw it in your eyes immediately when he opened the door. Even the knife in your hands could not disguise the fear in your eyes from the things you have experienced in the hands of those ruthless bastards. You couldn't meet his eyes, you couldn't meet anyone's eyes. The tragedy was not that those men could not be justly tried for violating you, but the fact that you were broken and they had gotten away with it through death. You shook violently when he approached you with soothing murmurs of assurances, that he would never leave you again, that you could get away with this.
No one knew what happened except that those men died of suicidal gunshot wounds to the head when they were surrounded by the SWAT team and you had fought to keep yourself alive while they all came in, but the sight of these men dead, the thought that they have escaped persecution for their crimes, had broken you. You had survived as an empty shell and nothing more.
Spencer gazed at you from outside of your room. Whenever he had tried to visit you, the sound of his voice would send you in a fright and no male presence could touch you without drawing a violent fit from you. You would sleep all day and when you weren't asleep, you would sit there gazing into space as if you had lost your sense of purpose. He couldn't even recognize the person that you had been before, confident and beautiful, the girl who challenged him and loved his challenges, the girl he was going to marry next year.
He entered the room hesitantly by the grace of the doctor's permission. He forced himself to resist the urge to tiptoe so that he would not wake you from your sleep, but with every step he took, you remained deeply at peace. Spencer sat down, memorizing every feature of your face. The bruises were fading and the scars were healing and some were lighter than before, but they would never go away. They would forever be a reminder of the days you had gone through as a hostage for those unsubs because they wanted to get to him. Spencer could remember the moments before he stepped into that house, full of rage and his gun loaded and ready to shoot down those monsters who had taken you. Instead, all he heard was your scream and saw the image of you ducking under the table, knife in hand.
The BAU reached out slowly to touch your hand. He recoiled, as if expecting you to jerk your hand away, but you hadn't. The petite hand simply laid there, limp and lifeless and pale as the day he has met you. He licked his lips, not even bothering to wince at the harsh chapped texture that gave way to blood. He opened his mouth to speak, but found his throat dry and irritated.
"I love you," he tested hoarsely. Silence loomed over the air and his heart sank at the words unheard by your ears. "I'm still here. My feelings have never changed. If you say the word, I'll make it happen."
He caught himself jumping when your fingers twitched under his touch. He stood up and reached forward to brush a strand of your hair away but stopped himself. Spencer licked his dry lips again and turned to leave. He would be back tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and the day after. Until you would be ready to see him, until you would be ready to be with him again.
No one knew what happened except that those men died of suicidal gunshot wounds to the head when they were surrounded by the SWAT team and you had fought to keep yourself alive while they all came in, but the sight of these men dead, the thought that they have escaped persecution for their crimes, had broken you. You had survived as an empty shell and nothing more.
Spencer gazed at you from outside of your room. Whenever he had tried to visit you, the sound of his voice would send you in a fright and no male presence could touch you without drawing a violent fit from you. You would sleep all day and when you weren't asleep, you would sit there gazing into space as if you had lost your sense of purpose. He couldn't even recognize the person that you had been before, confident and beautiful, the girl who challenged him and loved his challenges, the girl he was going to marry next year.
He entered the room hesitantly by the grace of the doctor's permission. He forced himself to resist the urge to tiptoe so that he would not wake you from your sleep, but with every step he took, you remained deeply at peace. Spencer sat down, memorizing every feature of your face. The bruises were fading and the scars were healing and some were lighter than before, but they would never go away. They would forever be a reminder of the days you had gone through as a hostage for those unsubs because they wanted to get to him. Spencer could remember the moments before he stepped into that house, full of rage and his gun loaded and ready to shoot down those monsters who had taken you. Instead, all he heard was your scream and saw the image of you ducking under the table, knife in hand.
The BAU reached out slowly to touch your hand. He recoiled, as if expecting you to jerk your hand away, but you hadn't. The petite hand simply laid there, limp and lifeless and pale as the day he has met you. He licked his lips, not even bothering to wince at the harsh chapped texture that gave way to blood. He opened his mouth to speak, but found his throat dry and irritated.
"I love you," he tested hoarsely. Silence loomed over the air and his heart sank at the words unheard by your ears. "I'm still here. My feelings have never changed. If you say the word, I'll make it happen."
He caught himself jumping when your fingers twitched under his touch. He stood up and reached forward to brush a strand of your hair away but stopped himself. Spencer licked his dry lips again and turned to leave. He would be back tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and the day after. Until you would be ready to see him, until you would be ready to be with him again.
97
“Aaron Hotchner, I can't believe that you out of all people would agree to such... transgressions!” you scolded your brother sternly, switching your gaze from your tied up boyfriend to your brother. Hotch shrugged and nodded over to the rest of the BAU team, who were standing guiltily behind Spencer, who was screaming bloody murder from behind his duct tape.
You shut your eyes tightly, pushing at your temples to relieve the incoming headache. Who knew that a bunch of profilers could be just as sadistic as the people they profiled, to say the least of your love for these guys. You had to admit that while they were batshit crazy people, you still loved the hell out of them, even if they did wrap your boyfriend to an office chair using duct tape. The fact that they would have been charged for kidnapping if you hadn't known them didn't stop dear Garcia from stepping out from the crowd and chirping, “Happy early birthday! Look what we found!”
You sighed, silently counting backwards from ten as suggested by your therapist, as you responded with a small smile—who couldn't smile to this crazy lady? “Yes, Garcia, I can see my boyfriend being held down.”
Morgan grinned and shook his head, “Oh no, baby girl, he's only PART of the present.”
You replied by raising and eyebrow so of course, Rossi would promptly say, “Call it a... well, challenge. You love those, don't you?” You stared pointedly at him, challenging the old man to say anything about the daily sudoku and crossword puzzle races you two would have, and he had the audacity to continue as if you didn't have eyes! “Well, the real present is on Reid here. So you're going to have to find it.”
You turned to Prentiss, waiting for her to deliver the finishing instruction to this game you were suddenly participating in involving your boyfriend, but she simply shrugged and said, “I have no idea what is even going on. They just told me to come in here while they do the whole game thing with you.”
Without another word, she picked up her mug and walked out of the room, leaving you to stare at the group with your arms folded across your chest, mustering the most reprimanding glare ever before they took the hint and bolted. Taking a deep breath, you turned to your trapped boyfriend, who was beginning to look more like a frightened rabbit, and finally said, “Now, it looks like we need to talk, huh?”
You shut your eyes tightly, pushing at your temples to relieve the incoming headache. Who knew that a bunch of profilers could be just as sadistic as the people they profiled, to say the least of your love for these guys. You had to admit that while they were batshit crazy people, you still loved the hell out of them, even if they did wrap your boyfriend to an office chair using duct tape. The fact that they would have been charged for kidnapping if you hadn't known them didn't stop dear Garcia from stepping out from the crowd and chirping, “Happy early birthday! Look what we found!”
You sighed, silently counting backwards from ten as suggested by your therapist, as you responded with a small smile—who couldn't smile to this crazy lady? “Yes, Garcia, I can see my boyfriend being held down.”
Morgan grinned and shook his head, “Oh no, baby girl, he's only PART of the present.”
You replied by raising and eyebrow so of course, Rossi would promptly say, “Call it a... well, challenge. You love those, don't you?” You stared pointedly at him, challenging the old man to say anything about the daily sudoku and crossword puzzle races you two would have, and he had the audacity to continue as if you didn't have eyes! “Well, the real present is on Reid here. So you're going to have to find it.”
You turned to Prentiss, waiting for her to deliver the finishing instruction to this game you were suddenly participating in involving your boyfriend, but she simply shrugged and said, “I have no idea what is even going on. They just told me to come in here while they do the whole game thing with you.”
Without another word, she picked up her mug and walked out of the room, leaving you to stare at the group with your arms folded across your chest, mustering the most reprimanding glare ever before they took the hint and bolted. Taking a deep breath, you turned to your trapped boyfriend, who was beginning to look more like a frightened rabbit, and finally said, “Now, it looks like we need to talk, huh?”
98
The sun was barely up when he got the phone call he has been waiting for. Spencer sat up groggily as he held the phone to his ears, not quite processing what the owner of the voice was saying until he spoke your name. It was then that his eyes snapped open, wide awake and fully alert. The young genius glanced at the clock before licking his lips. Italy, he laughed inwardly. Of all places in the world, why couldn't he have guessed that you would be there?
Almost a full day later, he was getting off at a bus stop in the middle of nowhere. The dirt road loomed ahead of him, the bus brewing up a dust storm as it drove into the sunset. He slipped on his sunglasses and licked his lips nervously before glancing at the address once more. He didn't have any reason to doubt Hotch, seeing as he was your brother after all, but it was hard to believe that everything that came to a halt before will now resume its course, if such was even possible.
It was almost two years ago that he was holding your hand in the hospital, listening for your weak pulse with dried tear trails down his cheek as he slept at your bedside. It was also almost two years ago when he had to announce to the public that you were dead so that Hotch and he could send you to an unknown location—unbeknownst to him, of course, lest he ever weaken enough to come find you. When the unsub was caught and prosecuted, he committed suicide in prison after leaving a cryptic poem that supposedly gave the locations to the bodies of his victims. And now here he was, standing under the cool autumn sun, looking for a cottage on the outer edge of Naples.
He had not been able to reach you by phone and he hadn't thought to send a letter—after all, he left the States right away when Hotch gave him your location. He must have walked two miles off the road before he heard the sound of hooves stomping on the ground. Blond hair came into sight when he sped up. The slim body of a girl sat astride a horse, her form was slender, much like yours. It was you, he thought as she leaped across the fence on the other side of the field to venture into the forest. He walked forward in a daze, eager to get to you until the horse turned back to reveal someone who wasn't you.
Spencer felt his heart drop to his stomach. Had he come to the wrong place? Did something happen to you? Where were--
“My, my, Dr. Reid, you think that you're single once I moved to Italy?” His heart picked up its pace as he turned to you. A wide grin sat on your lips and your hair was not blond. You were the same person as you had been two years ago. When you noticed that his eyes flickered to your hair, you picked at it before adding, “Aaron will probably kill me for not disguising myself, but we're safe, right?”
He wanted to run to you and pick you up and kiss you. He wanted to hold you forever and never let you go but the familiar fear gripped at his heart, the fear that if he came near you, you would be in danger again. That you would fade away like a dream that will never become reality again. But the fear went away. It evaporated when you ran to him and leaped into his arms, wrapping your arms around his shoulder and your legs around his waist before you covered your lips with his. He returned the gesture eagerly, forgetting the politeness that he had practiced on the flight in case things were to be awkward between the two of you.
His hands cupped your face and you two kissed until you were out of breath. You pulled back slowly, cheeks flushed and lips bruised, staring into his eyes. My god, he hasn't changed at all. Spencer was still the same man who stole your cab three years ago and proposed to you before you had to go to Italy. “Why aren't you saying anything?”
He shook his head, whispering softly, “I'm afraid to wake up from all this. What if I wake up in my bed and none of this happened?”
“At least you will remember that I've always wanted to live in Italy,” you laughed. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
Almost a full day later, he was getting off at a bus stop in the middle of nowhere. The dirt road loomed ahead of him, the bus brewing up a dust storm as it drove into the sunset. He slipped on his sunglasses and licked his lips nervously before glancing at the address once more. He didn't have any reason to doubt Hotch, seeing as he was your brother after all, but it was hard to believe that everything that came to a halt before will now resume its course, if such was even possible.
It was almost two years ago that he was holding your hand in the hospital, listening for your weak pulse with dried tear trails down his cheek as he slept at your bedside. It was also almost two years ago when he had to announce to the public that you were dead so that Hotch and he could send you to an unknown location—unbeknownst to him, of course, lest he ever weaken enough to come find you. When the unsub was caught and prosecuted, he committed suicide in prison after leaving a cryptic poem that supposedly gave the locations to the bodies of his victims. And now here he was, standing under the cool autumn sun, looking for a cottage on the outer edge of Naples.
He had not been able to reach you by phone and he hadn't thought to send a letter—after all, he left the States right away when Hotch gave him your location. He must have walked two miles off the road before he heard the sound of hooves stomping on the ground. Blond hair came into sight when he sped up. The slim body of a girl sat astride a horse, her form was slender, much like yours. It was you, he thought as she leaped across the fence on the other side of the field to venture into the forest. He walked forward in a daze, eager to get to you until the horse turned back to reveal someone who wasn't you.
Spencer felt his heart drop to his stomach. Had he come to the wrong place? Did something happen to you? Where were--
“My, my, Dr. Reid, you think that you're single once I moved to Italy?” His heart picked up its pace as he turned to you. A wide grin sat on your lips and your hair was not blond. You were the same person as you had been two years ago. When you noticed that his eyes flickered to your hair, you picked at it before adding, “Aaron will probably kill me for not disguising myself, but we're safe, right?”
He wanted to run to you and pick you up and kiss you. He wanted to hold you forever and never let you go but the familiar fear gripped at his heart, the fear that if he came near you, you would be in danger again. That you would fade away like a dream that will never become reality again. But the fear went away. It evaporated when you ran to him and leaped into his arms, wrapping your arms around his shoulder and your legs around his waist before you covered your lips with his. He returned the gesture eagerly, forgetting the politeness that he had practiced on the flight in case things were to be awkward between the two of you.
His hands cupped your face and you two kissed until you were out of breath. You pulled back slowly, cheeks flushed and lips bruised, staring into his eyes. My god, he hasn't changed at all. Spencer was still the same man who stole your cab three years ago and proposed to you before you had to go to Italy. “Why aren't you saying anything?”
He shook his head, whispering softly, “I'm afraid to wake up from all this. What if I wake up in my bed and none of this happened?”
“At least you will remember that I've always wanted to live in Italy,” you laughed. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
99
Oh my, you thought silently as you flipped the page anxiously. Perhaps an hour ago you might have thought this particular mystery book was stupid – and that was saying a lot since you were quite the fan of mystery novels in spite of your occupation – but now it had you literally on the edge of your couch. You were sitting up straight while nibbling on your cookie and sipping your tea to kill time until your husband would come home from his conference, but then you had slid down to the edge of the couch so that reaching the cookies would be easier without moving the book out of your sight.
Currently the heroine has unknowingly entered the culprit's house without knowing that this particular villain was the murderer because she was suspecting another person close to this character. What would happen next, you wondered? Maybe in two more pages, or three... you should really start dinner now, but to hell with it, Spencer could microwave his own dinner and feed himself, you were quite full on the cookies anyways.
“She finds out the identity of the killer and distracts her by pretending that she has proof regarding the murder,” Spencer remarked on his way to his study.
You jumped up, glaring at your husband for his die-hard habit of giving away plots. Spencer paused and turned around to give you a kiss on the lips before heading towards his study again. You hadn't even heard him come in!
Watching his backside disappear down the hall into the study, you grumbled, “I could have figured something like that.”
Currently the heroine has unknowingly entered the culprit's house without knowing that this particular villain was the murderer because she was suspecting another person close to this character. What would happen next, you wondered? Maybe in two more pages, or three... you should really start dinner now, but to hell with it, Spencer could microwave his own dinner and feed himself, you were quite full on the cookies anyways.
“She finds out the identity of the killer and distracts her by pretending that she has proof regarding the murder,” Spencer remarked on his way to his study.
You jumped up, glaring at your husband for his die-hard habit of giving away plots. Spencer paused and turned around to give you a kiss on the lips before heading towards his study again. You hadn't even heard him come in!
Watching his backside disappear down the hall into the study, you grumbled, “I could have figured something like that.”
100
King Hotch was having a dilemma. It has been a while since he allowed a moment's rest for his thoughts. However, even as he reclined in his leather chair and gazed out the window, he couldn't help but drown in his musings about this particular situation. If someone had told him two years ago that his baby sister was going to marry his youngest BAU member, he would have laughed his head off and profiled the hell out of that person. Now that the word had slipped that Reid would be proposing to you soon, he found himself quite helpless as to what to do. As a matter of fact, he couldn't help but see that he has no role in this particular matter.
Sure, now that your parents have died, he was in charge of taking care of you, though you would probably argue the case by saying that you were old enough to take care of yourself. Not to mention, Spencer Reid was probably one of the best men he knew; there was no one else he would trust to care for you. It was just that... well, he hated being idle in a situation like this. A sitting duck, waiting to react in some kind of manner whenever you would burst through that door and shove your ring in his face to tell him that you were getting married and that he would be the one to walk you down the aisle... or whenever Reid would come in to ask for your hand in marriage.
It seemed like he was obligated to tell him no even though he liked the poor kid.
“Hey Aaron,” you opened the door without knocking, yet another reminder that you guys were brothers and sisters, “Lunch?”
“Already ate,” he responded, shaking his head.
You were about to close the door until you noticed the strange angle at which his chair was turned – towards the window. Somehow you didn't recognize the man sitting in the chair, after all, your big brother would NEVER do that at his work place. Not even at home! You stopped, raising an eyebrow before remarking, “You good?”
“You mean, are you fine? And yes, I am,” he nodded.
You walked into the room then, asking in the gentlest way you knew when it came to talking to your brother, “What's wrong?”
“Nothing...” he paused, “Are you happy right now? With Reid?”
You pursed your lips and raised an eyebrow at him, but he didn't miss the split second when your eyes lit up. After thinking for a moment, you said, “Of course I am. We fight two times a day about the literary techniques that Chuck Palahniuk uses and he always forgets to take out the pepperoni from the pizza whenever we order out... then we end up fighting again... but the make up sex is great.”
His face scrunched in horror, “I didn't need to know about that!”
You laughed, “I know, but I'm happy, Aaron. He does the craziest things to make me happy.”
“That's good. I'm happy for you then.” King Hotch left out a sigh, quite defeated and ready to hand the crown over to his future brother-in-law, the one who would then handle all his sister's antics, and soon, her clone's antics.
Sure, now that your parents have died, he was in charge of taking care of you, though you would probably argue the case by saying that you were old enough to take care of yourself. Not to mention, Spencer Reid was probably one of the best men he knew; there was no one else he would trust to care for you. It was just that... well, he hated being idle in a situation like this. A sitting duck, waiting to react in some kind of manner whenever you would burst through that door and shove your ring in his face to tell him that you were getting married and that he would be the one to walk you down the aisle... or whenever Reid would come in to ask for your hand in marriage.
It seemed like he was obligated to tell him no even though he liked the poor kid.
“Hey Aaron,” you opened the door without knocking, yet another reminder that you guys were brothers and sisters, “Lunch?”
“Already ate,” he responded, shaking his head.
You were about to close the door until you noticed the strange angle at which his chair was turned – towards the window. Somehow you didn't recognize the man sitting in the chair, after all, your big brother would NEVER do that at his work place. Not even at home! You stopped, raising an eyebrow before remarking, “You good?”
“You mean, are you fine? And yes, I am,” he nodded.
You walked into the room then, asking in the gentlest way you knew when it came to talking to your brother, “What's wrong?”
“Nothing...” he paused, “Are you happy right now? With Reid?”
You pursed your lips and raised an eyebrow at him, but he didn't miss the split second when your eyes lit up. After thinking for a moment, you said, “Of course I am. We fight two times a day about the literary techniques that Chuck Palahniuk uses and he always forgets to take out the pepperoni from the pizza whenever we order out... then we end up fighting again... but the make up sex is great.”
His face scrunched in horror, “I didn't need to know about that!”
You laughed, “I know, but I'm happy, Aaron. He does the craziest things to make me happy.”
“That's good. I'm happy for you then.” King Hotch left out a sigh, quite defeated and ready to hand the crown over to his future brother-in-law, the one who would then handle all his sister's antics, and soon, her clone's antics.
101
“I don't want this, I don't want this at all. Please, don't make me--” You were pulling with all your might, but for some damn reason, you weren't budging at all. Maybe Garcia WAS as strong as she looked.
“[your name], you're just frightened right now. Cold feet, that's it!” Garcia tried to assure you. “It happens to everyone. Sweetie, you've got to calm down.”
You stopped pulling and turned to her expectantly, waiting for her explanation regarding the panic rising inside of you. It was so sudden, the idea that your life would change completely came when you first stepped in front of the mirror. Tomorrow was the wedding and it was too late to talk Reid out of anything. It would break his heart to know that you didn't want to marry him and you loved him too much for that. You took a deep breath to stifle the sob as you told her, “Garcia. I just... I can't do this. I'm not ready.”
“None of us ever are, you know. It just happens and next thing you know, you're married and you can't imagine living without him.” At the sound of knocking on the door, you jumped and Garcia glanced towards it when Spencer's voice came through the door, “Look, I know you're scared, but guess what? So is Spencer. I think you guys should talk it out and see where it goes, okay? At least promise me that.”
Before you could answer, she stood up and opened the door to reveal a worried Spencer in his tux. He managed a nervous shaky smile at you before licking his lips, asking softly if he could come in. You returned the gesture and called him over. When he got close to you, Spencer averted his eyes towards the ground, unsure as to whether or not he should sit down. “[your name], is everything alright?”
With his eyes so sweet, his voice so soft, you couldn't help but feel your heart skip a beat. Of course you wanted to be with this man, you just didn't know if you would be ready. What if marriage changed everything? Watching your brother's marriage crumble to nothing and seeing Aaron practically killed himself with work after Haley's death had scared you so badly that you didn't know what hit you when you decided to go out with Spencer. Clearing your throat, you muttered in response, “I guess you heard, huh?”
He nodded, sitting down slowly. You watched his hands fidget, as if he didn't quite know what to do in this situation. After all, out of the two of you, you were the one who was always sure of yourself. “I'm sorry, Spencer. I just... I didn't expect all of it to come so quickly and I guess what I'm feeling right now is just confusion.”
“I know what you mean...” he started slowly, reaching for your hand. His hands covered yours, warmth enveloping it with all the love that he had for you. “I know we might be moving a little fast... and we can wait, if you want, but I love you. We're going to run into problems and we're going to be happy because it's not going to be just you handling it, but I'm going to be with you, you know?”
You managed a small smile at the way his voice sped up. Spencer licked his lips nervously, trying to pace himself for the next words coming out of his mouth. “I think... no, I know that whatever happens in the future, it'll all work out for the better.”
And somehow, it all clicked. The fear that had almost stopped you from growing old with him had suddenly... disappeared. No one else could make you as happy as he could.
You laughed softly, clasping his hand when you see your future husband look at you with those adorable eyes of his. “Spencer. Ask me to marry you.”
“But--”
“Again.”
“Will you marry me?”
“Yes, tomorrow,” you pulled him down for a kiss.
–
“Are you sure you're ready for this?”
You smiled at Aaron's attempt to coddle you before you step into married life and nodded your head before kissing your big brother's cheek. “Of course I am.”
He gave you a long hard stare before clearing his throat, holding his arm out to you as he would his hand whenever you guys were little and you had scraped your knee. You took his arm and he led you through the doors. Everyone stood up, smiling at you, happiness for the blushing bride, but the only one you could see was him.
His big brown eyes, the locks that can't be tamed, the huge smile blooming on his face. The tux had fit his body perfectly, transforming him into a prince who would soon become to king of your heart. Rossi and Morgan clapped him on the shoulder, barely snapping him out of his dazed state, causing him to blink in surprised when you smiled at him. And the best part of it was, he was all yours.
You mouthed a greeting to him when you reached the altar, standing as close as you can to him without touching. The vows were spoken and the promises made, in sickness and in health, forever and a day. Always. It suddenly became clear to you that the I do's, the wedding bands and the kisses was not in itself a representation of marriage, but a reminder. It would remind the bride and the groom of what trials and hardships it took for them to be standing in front of that altar, knowing each and every single one of each other's good and bad traits.
Everyone comes together expecting forever, but how many of them truly put forth the effort to keep it that way? After all the fights and making up, from driving your kids to their first day school to taking their pictures as they walk across the stage for their diploma, taking them down the aisle, kissing your first grandchild, you wondered if you could imagine being with anyone else after all of those things would happen.
“What are you thinking about?” Spencer whispered in your ear as you gazed out the window of the vintage car to see everyone waving at you. He squeezed your hand gently, drawing your attention back to him.
You laughed, starting your lives together with a smile, and said, “Forever.”
“[your name], you're just frightened right now. Cold feet, that's it!” Garcia tried to assure you. “It happens to everyone. Sweetie, you've got to calm down.”
You stopped pulling and turned to her expectantly, waiting for her explanation regarding the panic rising inside of you. It was so sudden, the idea that your life would change completely came when you first stepped in front of the mirror. Tomorrow was the wedding and it was too late to talk Reid out of anything. It would break his heart to know that you didn't want to marry him and you loved him too much for that. You took a deep breath to stifle the sob as you told her, “Garcia. I just... I can't do this. I'm not ready.”
“None of us ever are, you know. It just happens and next thing you know, you're married and you can't imagine living without him.” At the sound of knocking on the door, you jumped and Garcia glanced towards it when Spencer's voice came through the door, “Look, I know you're scared, but guess what? So is Spencer. I think you guys should talk it out and see where it goes, okay? At least promise me that.”
Before you could answer, she stood up and opened the door to reveal a worried Spencer in his tux. He managed a nervous shaky smile at you before licking his lips, asking softly if he could come in. You returned the gesture and called him over. When he got close to you, Spencer averted his eyes towards the ground, unsure as to whether or not he should sit down. “[your name], is everything alright?”
With his eyes so sweet, his voice so soft, you couldn't help but feel your heart skip a beat. Of course you wanted to be with this man, you just didn't know if you would be ready. What if marriage changed everything? Watching your brother's marriage crumble to nothing and seeing Aaron practically killed himself with work after Haley's death had scared you so badly that you didn't know what hit you when you decided to go out with Spencer. Clearing your throat, you muttered in response, “I guess you heard, huh?”
He nodded, sitting down slowly. You watched his hands fidget, as if he didn't quite know what to do in this situation. After all, out of the two of you, you were the one who was always sure of yourself. “I'm sorry, Spencer. I just... I didn't expect all of it to come so quickly and I guess what I'm feeling right now is just confusion.”
“I know what you mean...” he started slowly, reaching for your hand. His hands covered yours, warmth enveloping it with all the love that he had for you. “I know we might be moving a little fast... and we can wait, if you want, but I love you. We're going to run into problems and we're going to be happy because it's not going to be just you handling it, but I'm going to be with you, you know?”
You managed a small smile at the way his voice sped up. Spencer licked his lips nervously, trying to pace himself for the next words coming out of his mouth. “I think... no, I know that whatever happens in the future, it'll all work out for the better.”
And somehow, it all clicked. The fear that had almost stopped you from growing old with him had suddenly... disappeared. No one else could make you as happy as he could.
You laughed softly, clasping his hand when you see your future husband look at you with those adorable eyes of his. “Spencer. Ask me to marry you.”
“But--”
“Again.”
“Will you marry me?”
“Yes, tomorrow,” you pulled him down for a kiss.
–
“Are you sure you're ready for this?”
You smiled at Aaron's attempt to coddle you before you step into married life and nodded your head before kissing your big brother's cheek. “Of course I am.”
He gave you a long hard stare before clearing his throat, holding his arm out to you as he would his hand whenever you guys were little and you had scraped your knee. You took his arm and he led you through the doors. Everyone stood up, smiling at you, happiness for the blushing bride, but the only one you could see was him.
His big brown eyes, the locks that can't be tamed, the huge smile blooming on his face. The tux had fit his body perfectly, transforming him into a prince who would soon become to king of your heart. Rossi and Morgan clapped him on the shoulder, barely snapping him out of his dazed state, causing him to blink in surprised when you smiled at him. And the best part of it was, he was all yours.
You mouthed a greeting to him when you reached the altar, standing as close as you can to him without touching. The vows were spoken and the promises made, in sickness and in health, forever and a day. Always. It suddenly became clear to you that the I do's, the wedding bands and the kisses was not in itself a representation of marriage, but a reminder. It would remind the bride and the groom of what trials and hardships it took for them to be standing in front of that altar, knowing each and every single one of each other's good and bad traits.
Everyone comes together expecting forever, but how many of them truly put forth the effort to keep it that way? After all the fights and making up, from driving your kids to their first day school to taking their pictures as they walk across the stage for their diploma, taking them down the aisle, kissing your first grandchild, you wondered if you could imagine being with anyone else after all of those things would happen.
“What are you thinking about?” Spencer whispered in your ear as you gazed out the window of the vintage car to see everyone waving at you. He squeezed your hand gently, drawing your attention back to him.
You laughed, starting your lives together with a smile, and said, “Forever.”