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Doors I Painted Shut | Spencer Reid

Smurph's Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 7 of Routine Maintenance

Warnings: arguments, mentions of suicidal thoughts, mentions of Spencer's past drug use, bad flirting, makeouts, awkward boners

Summary: Spencer and Emily have a serious talk. Later, Spencer can't keep his eyes off you at a bonfire.

The walk to his room reminded Spencer of the BAU. Every time he'd had to trudge down to the Chief's office, knowing he was about to get yelled at, played through his mind and made his shoulders sink.

He struggled with the sticky door, and eventually Emily opened it for him. She walked in and sat down on his bed, and Spencer plopped down next to her. They sat there awkwardly for a few minutes, all the happiness at seeing one another for the first time in two years dissipating into the anxious pool of memory.

"You look skinny," she finally said. "Are you eating enough?"

Spencer groaned and rubbed his face with his hand, "Ugh, Emily."

"I'm sorry. Sorry," she said softly, holding up her hands in defeat. She pointed to his face, "How are you holding up?"

"I'm just glad it's not broken. I was worried the next time I saw Morgan he wouldn't call me pretty boy anymore." Spencer chuckled weakly, hoping it would make this all less uncomfortable, but Emily didn't.

"So you're planning on coming back to DC sometime?"

Spencer shrugged, "I don't know."

She nodded, looking around the room to quell some of her anxiety as he glowered down at his feet. Emily pointed to the dresser across from the bed. It was littered with bottles from the past few days. "You're drinking again."

"I'm not using. Don't worry," he muttered. He dug through his pocket and pulled out a metal coin, holding it up to her. "I've still got my chip. I go to meetings."

"Of course I'm worried, Spence-," she began, but Spencer didn't want to hear it. He stood sharply and flung out a hand in irritation.

"I didn't ask you to, Emily! I'm a grown man and I can take care of myself!" Spencer didn't know why he was shouting, but he couldn't stop himself.

"Yeah, and you're doing a great job with a busted face and a dislocated arm from a bar fight!" she yelled back, standing with him. "Look at you! You're in the middle of nowhere, getting into fights, going off with strangers. You don't even look like yourself!"

"I'm doing my best," Spencer hissed through gritted teeth. "Did it ever occur to you that I don't want to be myself anymore? Or at least not who I was back then?"

He turned toward the sliding door, making his way toward it. It was still latched shut, the curtains stock still instead of waving in the breeze like his first day. Spencer glared at the lock, but he couldn't bring himself to open it. If he did, he might just take off running for the beach.

"Do you remember how I found you two years ago?" Emily's voice came softly from behind him. "The day before Diana died?"

Of course Spencer remembered. Everything was falling apart. He was having nightmares, failed relationship after failed relationship, arguments with his friends. His mother was dying, a waste of her former self… her brilliant mind was gone. He'd been drinking for days alone in his apartment, existing in a court of horrors led by the ghosts of his past.

Emily came in with her extra key. She found him crying in the other room. Spencer had a 1967 Colt .45 hanging loosely from his fingers, gathering up the courage to put it in his mouth. Emily smiled as she eased the gun from his hand, and he was frozen with joy that someone, anyone, had stopped him.

He looked her straight in the eye as they both cried silent tears. She got to her knees in front of him and held his face so gently his whole being crumbled.

It's been years since I've been low like this, he'd told her. I don't like me.

Emily drove him to his mother's nursing home then, pumping him with coffee to sober him up. He was at her side when she died, and everything became crystal clear. He knew why Gideon left, why he never came back even though he loved Spencer and the team. They were as much ghosts as the people they couldn't save.

"I don't like me," Spencer whispered now as he watched the sun over the ocean. It seemed so peaceful out there, like if he walked into the waves they would carry him where he was supposed to go.

"The next day, when you told me she passed and you gave me your resignation…" Emily's voice cracked as she came up behind him. He had to close his eyes to take the impact of her words. "I thought that was the last time I was ever going to see you until I had to identify your body."

"Yet I'm still here," he said bitterly. Pure venom dripped from his tongue as he said it, and a bit of gratitude. She had saved him so he could spend his mother's last moments on this earth with her, and he would forever be thankful for that. She gave him the courage to make a change and leave instead of ending it all in one final blast of blood and bone and gunpowder.

He thought he'd painted this door shut, but now there was a draft coming from underneath. He didn't want to die, but he was petrified of getting up and facing those demons. That's why he ran away, why he was still running away.

"When you called me from Georgia, I was so proud of you." Emily's hands landed softly on his shoulders, and she pressed her forehead into his spine. "You were alive, you were out there. I thought you were going to find yourself and what makes you happy.

"You were supposed to come back, Spencer."

Spencer turned slowly, taking one of her hands in his. He squeezed her fingers and looked her dead in the eyes, "I'm never coming back to the BAU. I don't belong there anymore."

"You could teach-."

"Teach FBI recruits that the BAU is a rewarding place to work? You and I both know that's not true. Just like the people we hunt, that place destroys people," he growled, baring his teeth. "That job killed me, Emily. I'm out here trying to rise from the fucking ashes, not glue a broken vase and fill it back up with trauma."

"I don't like me," Spencer said brokenly. He passed her and went to the bottle-laden dresser. "I don't want to die… or maybe I do, I don't know."

Spencer licked his lip, looking up to see himself in the mirror on the wall. His hair touched his shoulders, a beard he never would have had at twenty four growing scraggly across his chin. His mottled nose made his eyes look even more sunken in and exhausted, and he even noticed a few gray hairs at his temples.

"I wanted the Spencer Reid you knew to die, and he did, Emily. He's gone."

"I loved that Spencer," she affirmed, but she didn't know what she was talking about. "He was sweet, and so much smarter than we deserved. I've never met anyone so full of love and kindness."

The rage that had been simmering at the back of his heart suddenly went full boil. He hated that Spencer, mostly because he disappeared without him even noticing, replaced by the broken shell of a man he was when he left.

Sweeping his arm, Spencer thrust all the bottles on the dresser to the floor. They crashed on the hardwood in a flurry of glass and plastic, making Emily jump a few steps back.

His chest heaving, Spencer turned to look at her. Hot wet tears soaked his cheeks, grief consuming his soul as he watched his best friend.

"Spencer…" she whispered, her eyes welling.

"I need you to know, I love you still," he told her. "I don't like me. Not this me. The best version of myself is still out there, and I am not coming home until I find him."

Emily's jaw tightened. She nodded in agreement, "I hope he's better than the one in front of me now."

Something in his chest ripped apart at her words. Decades of love and friendship was now the distance between them. Spencer never questioned Emily's love for him, and she was the only one who never treated him like a burden… but she knew the old him too well. He was now used to being a shadow in the night, and here was the light of day exposing him and all of his pain.

"Is everything okay?" Honey's voice came frantically. She rounded the doorframe and into the room, her bare feet coming to a stop just before all the broken glass.

Her eyes flicked warily between Spencer and Emily, and she pointed a thumb over her shoulder, "I'll…go get a broom."

"You don't have to clean this up," Spencer told her quietly. He ran an anxious hand through his hair and gave her an apologetic look.

Honey made a face, "I'm not cleaning up shit. I ain't your maid."

Then she was gone, leaving just Spencer and Emily once more. Emily started laughing, "I really like her, Spence."

He glowered at her, but he couldn't help but chuckle, "You shouldn't."

Honey came back a second later with a bucket and a broom. She set them just inside the doorframe, pointedly ignoring Spencer and flashing Emily a big smile. "You going to the bonfire tonight? Drinks and food on the beach, plus music."

Emily smiled back, then pointed at Spencer. "We'll be there."

Honey tapped the door frame before disappearing again. He turned to her and grumbled, "Why did you do that? I don't want to go to a bonfire."

Emily shrugged, "Old Spencer hated bonfires and parties. Shouldn't new Spencer try them out?"

"Look," she sighed when he gritted his teeth in response. "I'm not going to tell you what to do, even though all I want to do is burden you with sisterly advice. But…"

She stepped around the glass and picked up the broom, handing it to him. The plastic was cool in his hand, light as a feather. "Clean yourself up. Take as long as it takes. Be alone as much as you need to be. But don't you ever forget that if at any moment you need to call me, or I need to get on a plane… I will do that."

Emily's eyes blazed with the weight of her words, and suddenly the broom seemed like a broadsword, the thing he'd use to slay any demon in his path. "I love you, Spencer Reid. I love all the men that you are, that you will be, and that you have been. All these years, all these hurts and loves and losses and I've never stopped. I never will."

Spencer's chin wobbled pitifully as he watched her, his voice shaking, "You promise?"

Emily's hands lashed out, pulling him into a bone crushing hug. Spencer's tears quickly turned into sobs of relief. Deep down, he knew her words were true, but hearing them out loud and instead of in the teensy tiny optimist section of his brain made everything better.

"I promise," she swore, clutching him tightly. They swayed back and forth as they held one another, just reveling in the comfort of a lifelong friend

"I promise."

Around seven, Emily went to get changed for the bonfire. They'd cleaned up the glass together and put it in the bucket Honey brought. Spencer wasn't quite sure why, but he couldn't bring himself to throw away the broken pieces just yet, so he left it by the bedside.

They laid on the bed after, talking about the last two years more in depth than he had ever on a Zoom call. At his request, Emily left out most of the nitty gritty things about work, instead telling him about the team and their families. He told her about all the places he'd been, and she was most excited about the World's Largest places like the ball of twine and the rocking chair.

His shoulder was already feeling better, mostly just sore. He was looking forward to taking it off completely, but followed Dr. Altman's direction to keep it on another day. He even managed to dress himself, this time in an old FBI tee Emily brought him and a blue over shirt and khakis. He still wasn't a fan of jeans, and after Mexico likely never would be.

The summer heat soared while they were inside, and even though the sun was close to setting, sweat immediately formed on the back of Spencer's neck. They walked easily to the beach, Spencer pointing out some of the places he'd found to Emily. She told him about her night with Honey, how after a few drinks she'd spilled more than she meant to.

"I shouldn't have told her you worked with the FBI," she apologized. She'd opted for some shorts and a tee, holding some flip flops in her hand as they walked. "I'm sorry."

"Honestly? It's okay," Spencer decided with a small smile. "Last night, I told the guys about some of my work. They were really great to talk to. I think I needed to let some of it out."

"They all served, right? I'm sure they understood where you were coming from."

"They were all Rangers except for Lionel," Spencer agreed, laughing a bit. "I guess he was in the Army Ranger Wing in the Defense Forces of Ireland. You wouldn't think it with all the piercings."

"People aren't what they seem at face value, Spence. You of all people know that," Emily told him as they hit the beach. He could see people playing soccer and hanging around the bonfire. There was already a nice little crowd forming, cheering on the players. "They're like onions. Nothing but layers."

Spencer grunted in agreement, because unfortunately she was right. He'd judged too many of these people too early. He was begrudgingly enjoying them and this little town. Even Honey was growing on him.

He spotted her as they reached the bonfire. She wore a tiny pair of shorts and a sports bra, running around the makeshift soccer field. Her long tanned legs gleamed in the fading light, shining with sweat and flecks of sand. Her wild hair strained to be free from her ponytail, bouncing behind her as she bolted around.

They were using old fishing nets attached to poles as their goals. Honey was lightning fast, faking people out and running circles around them. Even though she was barefoot and on sand, she showed no signs of slowing down. She passed the ball to Rico, who caught it with the side of his foot, tapped it to correct the direction, then bolted for the goal.

Someone blocked his way, and they fumbled for the ball for a moment before Rico spotted Honey at the corner of the box. He kicked it her way, but it caught air and soared over the players in the middle of the field. Honey wasn't deterred, expertly letting it hit her chest and catching it with her foot. One cannon-like swing of her leg later, and it barreled through the goalie and into the net.

"Fuck yes!" Rico roared happily. He and the rest of the team rushed Honey as the crowd cheered.

Spencer watched with a reluctant smile as he picked her up and set her on his hip, all of them far too excited for a beachside pickup game. Emily made a beeline for Collie, who stood with Rose and Mattie May by the drinks cooler. A strong jawed man stood next to Collie with his arm around her waist as they approached, and Spencer assumed he was Augustín.

Collie made some introductions, confirming Spencer's thoughts. Augustín wore a linen white shirt and matching shorts, his dark eyes locking into Spencer's as Collie introduced him.

His grip was strong as he clasped Spencer's hand in both of his, "I want to apologize for my son's hotheadedness. I could blame it on his Latin blood, but in truth he's a boy lost in the woods."

Spencer shook his head, "There's nothing to apologize for. I like Rico. Plus, I think we're all a little lost, right?"

Augustín flashed Collie an approving look, and Spencer hoped that was a good thing. He patted Spencer's cheek and nodded, "You're a good boy. I can tell."

"Uh, thanks," Spencer said as he released his hand from his death grip. The rest of them chuckled and went about passing around drinks.

Rose seemed to have him pegged, handing him a plastic cup with bourbon in it, then giving Emily a beer. Augustín held up his own to the center of the group and proudly declared, "Salúd!"

"Salúd!" they echoed, clinking their drinks together. Spencer savored the burn as it went down, absentmindedly glancing back to Honey.

She was panting, coming down from her excitement and chatting with Rico, Holly, and Michelle from the diner. Spencer hadn't seen her without a shirt on before, and he couldn't help but admire her athletic body. She was well toned from years at sea and working with tools, a nice sheen of sweat glimmering off her skin from running around.

He hadn't seen her smile very much, but it looked good on her. She waved her hands around as she spoke animatedly, making them all laugh. Rico stood a respectable distance away from her, but they seemed to have made up with the way she talked with him. He was happy about that. The thought of being a point of contention between them left a sour feeling in his gut.

"Just like that," Emily murmured as she elbowed him lightly, "an IQ of 187 is slashed to 60."

"Shut up," he growled back playfully, but he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away. She was truly a beautiful woman who held herself with confidence, even if it contained an overwhelming grief. She put on a good front in front of her friends, one she didn't seem to put the effort into showing Spencer.

She caught his eye, trailing off and letting her friends take over the conversation. Excusing herself, she went over to him, and Spencer broke away from Emily and his group to meet her halfway.

"What happened to, 'that doesn't sound like my idea of a good time?'" Honey asked playfully, badly mimicking his voice.

"Maybe I'm tired of being Mr. Buzzkill," he replied easily, making her laugh. Spencer pointed toward the cooler behind him, "Can I get you a drink?"

She shook her head slowly, giving him a soft smile. "I'm gonna stick with water tonight."

"Brave girl," he marveled, taking a cheeky sip of his bourbon. In situations like this, it became his lifeline, something to hold onto.

They stood there for a while, silently sizing one another up. Honey's coy smile set a fire in his belly, though a part of his brain wanted to blame it on the alcohol. She waved a stray hand to his sling.

"How's the arm?" she asked with a wide grin that he couldn't help but return.

"Getting better. I'm looking forward to taking it off tomorrow."

"Good," she murmured, but as stilted as this conversation was she didn't seem uncomfortable. Instead she took a few steps closer until she was at his side, looking off at the ocean. He preferred looking at her.

"You ever sail?"

Spencer shook his head, "I'm not a strong swimmer."

Her eyes trailed the distance to the sunset, stretching far away. A light breeze caught her hair and made it dance in time with the waves, and she made no move to tuck that wildness away.

"I miss it."

Spencer nudged her a bit with his elbow, and she turned to look at him with a soft swell of grief. A quote surfaced in his mind at the sight of her resilience, the gaping wound that would never quite heal. Give your tears back to the ocean. You have no use for them anymore.

He almost said it aloud, but it was too personal. Instead he gave her a weak smile and said, "Good thing it isn't going anywhere anytime soon."

Honey smiled, a pretty shy smile as her bruised cheeks flushed. She rubbed an anxious hand over her neck as she glanced away from him, quickly catching sight of the water and pointing out toward it.

"There's nothing like the smell of the salt water. Chasing the sunset…letting everything go and knowing you're nothing out there." He eyes faded once more, adventure taking over as a memory clicked in her mind. Her voice was soft as she continued, "You're at the mercy of the gods… They'll guide you home, or pull you under."

"That sounds like life," Spencer whispered. "You either give up under the water or fight to break the surface."

Honey cocked her head and watched him softly in the fading light. Her mouth quirked into a thoughtful smile, "What happens if you're too tired of treading water?"

Spencer shrugged, making a face, "You find someone to help hold you up."

"And if they're not a strong swimmer?"

That surprised him, but she couldn't be talking about him. She barely knew him, and didn't seem to want to. Was she just asking for advice? Did she want to know how he'd made it this far with what she now knew of him? Maybe she was testing him.

Spencer's gaze bored into hers, though, his voice strong. "Then you teach them how. You save each other."

Honey seemed satisfied with his answer, and she nodded in reply. She turned to look at her feet, kicking the sand as she gathered her thoughts. Everyone around them chatted happily, focused on one another as Spencer and Honey stood off to the side. He hadn't realized how much they inched together during their conversation until her shoulder brushed his. The final blaze of the sun caught her cheekbones and shoulders, that summer tan the perfect shade. Despite the bruises, Spencer admired the slope of her nose, the way it framed her face so nicely.

He wanted to reach out and touch her, run his fingers along the curve of her jaw and trail them over the back of her neck. Through the bourbon and loneliness, he imagined his palm would fit nicely there, his thumb rubbing that sensitive spot behind her ear. Maybe she'd even close her eyes and sigh at the feeling.

She caught him staring, that gentle curve of her sweet smile reacting to his gaze. Spencer cleared his throat and chose to watch his drink instead. Maybe he should stop while he was ahead.

A call from the group later and they joined them around the bonfire. Honey sat next to Holly and Michelle, Collie and Augustín on her other side. Spencer would look up just in time to see Honey avert her gaze somewhere else, and he couldn't help but do the same each time she did as well.

Eventually someone brought out a guitar, someone else some cymbals. They passed it around, smoking, drinking, and eating and listening to a few songs. In between glances from Honey, Spencer spotted Rico watching them both with his brows furrowed. Spencer tried to stop after that, not wanting to ruin this burgeoning friendship with him, but it was as if his eyes were magnetized to her.

The soft glow of the firelight hugged her cheeks, illuminating her smile every time she laughed at something someone said. She clutched a water bottle tightly in her lap as she sat cross legged in a lawn chair. After the sun went down and the air cooled, she started rubbing her arms and scooting closer to the fire. If all of these people weren't around, he likely would have given her his flannel. It would look good on her.

Emily sat next to him, chatting easily with Mattie May and Rose. She was going to leave in the morning, so he tried to join in where he could, not wanting to waste this time with her. He'd missed her more than he cared to admit, but he glanced over again to catch Honey again quickly averting her eyes from him.

It was a good night of hanging out on the beach, and after a few drinks Spencer found himself comfortable enough to doze. It was strange for him to sleep in a public place. Even on cases, Spencer was restless and awake every hour or so, but with Emily by his side and a group of people who had been nothing but kind to him, he let himself release a bit of tension and fell asleep.

He woke up to a soft hand on his shoulder, sniffling hard and adjusting his tired eyes to the light. Honey kneeled in front of him with a gentle smile, rubbing her palm softly so as not to jolt him awake.

“What time is it?” he asked gruffly. He rubbed his face as she let out a soft chuckle. “Where’s Emily?”

“It’s about one in the morning, and she went to Collie’s with Rose, Mattie May and the De La Cruz’s,” she told him, but she didn’t pull away. The warmth from her hand bled through his shirt, his lonesome skin drinking in every drop of physical touch it could. “C’mon, I’ll take you back to the Inn.”

She held out her hand for him as she stood, and he let his palm slide over hers. He could have sworn her fingers squeezed his for a moment before letting go. Nobody else was around, instead they were off on different sections of the beach, leaving just him and Honey alone by the smothered fire.

"You don't have to leave the party if you don't want to," he said awkwardly, but she just shook her head.

"Everyone's pretty drunk and it's no fun being the sober one," she chuckled, then beckoned for him to follow. He did, and they made their way up the beach. By Spencer's memory he must have fallen asleep around ten, so three hours later he was pretty sobered up. His head hurt a little bit, but other than that he was fine.

The stars shone so brightly that if he reached up his hand Spencer swore he could grab one right out of the sky. The glittering blanket above stretched for miles, kissing the sea behind them. Even the lights from town couldn't drown them out.

"You can see everything out here," Spencer marveled as they walked. They weren't in a hurry, and the night was a nice temperature with the slight breeze, so they went about slowly. "The sky is so clear."

"You don't have that in DC?" Honey asked lightly. She still wore only her sports bra and shorts, her hands rubbing her arms to keep warm.

"There's too much light pollution," he said, shaking his head. Spencer found himself removing the velcro of his arm brace, letting his arm down slowly. Most of the pain was gone, the bruises the only thing left of the fight a few days ago. "It was like that where I grew up too."

She watched him idly as he tucked the brace under his armpit and shrugged off his flannel. He handed it to her without a word, and she slipped it on with a small smile. It nearly swallowed her shorter frame, coming just above her knees. Spencer regretted giving it to her. She was far too cute like that. He just wanted to pick her up and carry her home.

"Where did you grow up?"

"Las Vegas."

She made a pleased noise, “Ahh, so you know how to count cards?”

Spencer squinted her way, chuckling, “Yeah?”

“Good, keep that to yourself,” Honey told him seriously. “There’ll be a poker night one of these days and you and I will clean up.”

Spencer shook his head and laughed, and they walked the rest of the way mostly in silence. It wasn’t a long journey, just up the hill, but at night Spencer had to admit he would have had a harder time finding it than in the day.

He held the door open for Honey as they stepped into the Inn. The walk to his room felt shorter than before all of a sudden, almost unfairly. Honey's door to her apartment was right across from his, and she unlocked the door and pushed it open. Lingering in the doorway, she leaned against the frame. Spencer made no move for his own door, instead content just standing there watching her as she thought of what to say next.

"I'm glad you came out," she said after a bit, giving him another one of those soft smiles that made his chest hot. "And Emily. I like her."

"She likes you," he replied softly. "Thanks for inviting me. I had a good time."

"Good…" She trailed off, tapping the door frame absentmindedly. "Where do you think you'll go after this?"

"Probably Oregon," he said, "it's where I was going anyway."

Honey scoffed, "Oregon doesn't have anything on Thunderbird."

"Funny. That's what Nell said."

She squinted at him playfully, "That guy's crazy, you know."

"So are you."

Spencer was close enough to feel her body heat. His shirt hung open to show off her physique, toned and glistening in the dim light. He could even smell the sweat on her skin, those big eyes of hers watching him and waiting for his next move. Later he would blame it on the bourbon, but realistically Spencer knew he was sober. She just looked so damned good, and it had been so long. He wanted to feel her hands on his skin again, soft fingertips grazing up his back.

“I should give you this back,” Honey decided. She moved to slip the flannel from her shoulders, but Spencer's hands reached out, dropping the arm brace in the doorway.

“No,” he muttered, grabbing it by the lapels and pulling it back over her. Spencer tugged it closed, but he didn’t button it, instead holding it there with his hands as he looked down at her.

Honey swallowed thickly, her eyes hooded. She watched him through her lashes, so soft and sweet like that in his clothes… Spencer didn’t even realize he was stepping forward until her chest brushed against his sternum. His hand slid from the shirt to glide over her shoulder and up her neck, cupping her jaw in his palm. The other wrapped around her waist as he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

Honey let out that sigh of relief he’d imagined as he kissed her, but in reality it was so much better than in his head. Her palms brushed their way up his chest until they wrapped around his neck. Her back arched as his thumb brushed her spine. Spencer flattened his palm to pull her hips flush with his.

She didn't fight him, didn't smack or yell like a part of him thought she might. She melted into his embrace, kissing him back fervently. Spencer's fingers tangled into her ponytail, giving a soft tug and pressing his tongue against her bottom lip, demanding entrance. Honey moaned breathily as she let him in, making his chest swell with desire. Her body molded to his as he pressed her against the doorframe, small and strong and pulling just as much as she pushed. She tasted like salt water taffy, a bit like citrus, and he wanted more.

The hand on her back slipped down over her ample backside, giving her ass a rough squeeze before making his way down behind her thigh. She read his mind, hopping up as he lifted her and shoved her inside. His shoulder ached from the strain, but his lonely mind ignored it. Spencer pushed her up against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, grinding himself against her clothed core.

His cock stirred in his pants, her soft moans only making him harder as they made out like horny teenagers. Her scent consumed him, making his head swim with lust. He hadn't been touched like this in so long, and hadn't been able to touch like this either. Spencer squeezed every part of her supple body he could, loving the way her soft skin molded to his hands.

Honey was growing restless, her strong thighs clenching around his waist for friction. Spencer's free hand wandered under the flannel she wore, palming her soft belly and slipping it up to her breasts. She gasped as he ran the pad of his thumb over her nipple through the thin fabric of the sports bra, making him smile in satisfaction against her lips.

He trailed kisses down her jaw to her neck, grazing his teeth along the sensitive flesh. Honey's hands tangled into his hair as he nipped and sucked a line to her collar bone, a shuddering whine escaping her kiss-bitten lips.

"Thanks for walking me back," Emily's voice came from down the hall, making them both still. "I don't know where Spencer got off to."

In a swift movement, Spencer pulled Honey further into the doorway. He shut the door softly, turning the handle so the latch didn't sound out their location. With his nose buried in her neck, they stood there catching their breaths as quietly as they could as the footsteps approached.

Spencer's heart pounded in his chest when he heard Rose's voice, "I'm sure he called it an early night. We kept him up late last night."

Spencer tore himself away from the taste of Honey's skin to look at her. She was watching the crack of the door, still holding tightly to him. Her lips were red and swollen, patches of blush and fresh bite marks littering her neck and chest.

He couldn't help himself, so he pressed his lips to her neck. Spencer kissed his way to her jugular, swiping his tongue over it before giving her a soft bite. She sucked in a sharp breath, whispering through gritted teeth, "Fuck…"

"He said he had a really good time. Thanks for taking him out," Emily told him just as they passed the door Honey and Spencer were sinfully hiding behind. "He deserves to have some fun."

Spencer didn't really want to listen to them talk, instead wanting to bury himself deep inside this girl and feel her shudder around him. He pulled her off the wall and turned to go up to the apartment, but she pinched him.

"The stairs creak," Honey warned him under her breath, so Spencer set her against the wall again and buried his face in her chest, letting out an irritated groan.

Honey chuckled and patted his hair, almost making his leg thump like a dog’s. Her nails grazed his scalp, earning a guttural happy grunt from him. Spencer kissed the tops of her breasts softly, making his way up to her jawline once more before capturing her lips with his.

He didn’t want to lose this momentum. He wanted to barrel toward release, and his mind swam with heady desire. Fuck, all he wanted was to listen to her make those sounds loud enough to crack the windows. She tried to hold back her noises as she kissed him back, but Spencer wanted to rip them from her over and over again… but Rose and Emily had other plans to ruin his night and his boner.

“Honey does too,” Rose muttered, but Honey heard it sure enough. They pulled slowly away from one another as he continued. “Since her husband died she’s just been… stuck. I’ve spent the last decade watching her be miserable and accepting no help.”

“Sounds like you have your own Spencer then,” Emily chuckled as Spencer and Honey had to look away from one another. “Maybe they’ll do one another some good.”

“Goodnight,” Rose said after a moment, and Emily returned it. Spencer listened until they heard the door shut and lock before turning back to her.

Honey swallowed thickly, but unlike before it was with anxiety instead of sexual tension. Her chest heaved, his moving in time. She let her hands fall from him and clenched them in front of her chest, so Spencer lowered her slowly to the floor.

She watched him with those wide eyes as her feet hit the ground, neither of them quite sure what to do. Rose and Emily unknowingly slammed them with a thousand pounds of pressure when ten minutes ago all they were thinking about was getting laid.

“I, uh, I should probably go,” Spencer muttered awkwardly as he took his hands off her tight unbelievably sexy body. “I’ve… been drinking. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Right,” she whispered back, but Spencer could tell it hurt her a bit by the way she looked to the left to avoid his gaze. “Thanks for… walking me home.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, even though she’d walked him back.

She tugged on the sleeve of the flannel. “Do you want this back?”

“No,” he told her again, gripping the lapels and pulling them closed over her scantily clad body. “Goodnight.”

Honey nodded and headed up the stairs without another word or a backward glance. Spencer waited for her to reach the top before heading back to his own room. He picked up the arm brace before opening her door and shutting it behind him. Spencer managed to get his sticky door open, quickly shutting it behind him.

Locking it, Spencer stood with his back against the hardwood, staring wide eyed at the sliding door. He could see people partying in the distance, but all the joy of the night dissipated with his hard-on.

“What the fuck did I just do?”

Smurph's Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Notes: I love how much of a soft hardass Emily can be... as for Spencer and Honey? Oh I want them to screw so badly right now but unfortunately we have to wait ;)

Also, have you guy listened to any of the songs that these chapters are inspired by? Which one is your favorite?

@thedancingcostumeyoungadult @muffin-cup @simplyparker @spencerreidsmommy @hotchandspencearedilfs @gspenc @kbakery @nomajdetective @givemeth @hoshihiime @halloween-is-my-nationality @reidselle @thisiscalmanditsdoctorreid @dreatine @thebloomingeagle @fortheloveofwonderland @theforgottenwinter @parkerreidnorth @reidselle @randomhoex @scargarcia-magshotchner @stitchwrites @pygmygoat-bicyclehelmet @cle13 @aysixdy @elhotchner @directioner5life @elhotchner @loveeee2134 @preciousbabypeter @la-stuffs @stories-you-wont-hear @hotchlover @fortheloveofwonderland @lokiandhisdagger @bellanutellababyyy @dark-night-sky-99 @straightforbuckybutgayfornatasha @maltamurdock @charelletjee @kansas-reid @zephyrmonkey @spencer-reid-wonderland @spencersprettyslut @im-sure-its-fine @tvdstelenaforever @teddylupintonks @lilibet261 @kneelforloki @dirtytissuebox @almostgenerallyalways @whovian378 @cl0udyqu33n @thegettingbyp2 @averagestudent03 @the-sun-died-out @squishycalumxo @sebastiansstanswhore

@louderfortheback @pandabiiissh @calebye

@dottirose @lfaewrites @padsfirewhisky @wheels-upin-thirty @f-me-reid @justanothercmblog @academiareid @moyo5653 @comfybabie

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smurphsbookshelf · 2 years

Text

FUCK THIS STILL GOES SO HARD

This is the first fic I followed you for!!! <3 <3 I am still so in awe of your work and just in LOVE with it!!

90 Days | S.R (Part 1/12)

Not my gif.

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Chapter Summary - when you strike up a conversation with the brooding, handsome stranger at the bar, you had no idea it would lead to him spilling his guts to you.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - angst with happy ending, smut in a later chapter

Content Warnings - mentions of prison and prison arc, drinking, angsty Spencer, making out

Word Count - 6.2k

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Request to be Tagged in Series

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter One

Two months. Three weeks. Five days. Six hours.

It had been two months, three weeks, five days and six hours since he’d been out.

It had been one month, two weeks and one day since he’d been back at work.

It had been three hours and eleven minutes since he’d walked into this bar, his first since he’d been out.

And it had been seventeen minutes and nine seconds since he’d torn his eyes away from the clock on the wall above the bar or moved his body even an inch.

Spencer Reid had spent his whole thirty seven years quantifying his life into statistics and facts.

He was part of the thirty one percent of white males in the US.

He was in the nought point six percent of the population that worked for the federal government.

And as a provable genius with an IQ of one hundred and eighty seven he fell into two point five percent of the population.

Statistics were the only way Spencer knew how to make any sense of the world around him. If he understood the cold hard facts of a situation then he felt comfortable, in control even.

But then he’d spent three months, two weeks, five days and sixteen hours in that place, and suddenly statistics didn’t help him anymore.

It didn’t help him to know the number of prisoners being held in the US justice system. It didn’t aid his time in there to know how many of those prisoners committed suicide each year or the percentage of those who would reform once on the outside and those who would end up back in a cell.

He could recite the statistics on prison demographics; race, age, gender, even crimes committed in his sleep. But for the first time in his life, statistics hadn’t helped him.

The only thing that kept him focused, that helped keep his brain functioning, was to count down the minutes, hours, days, weeks and months he was in there.

A small piece of him slipped away each day, he had felt it. And two months later he still hadn’t managed to even begin putting those pieces back into place. He worried he never would. He was sure this was just the way things were now. The Spencer Reid that went in wasn’t the Spencer Reid that came out. He’d never be that man again, he was sure of it.

Nineteen minutes and twenty two seconds he kept counting down on the clock. The glass of whiskey sat between his hands on the bar, the ice long since melted.

It was his fifth of the night. Twenty seven sips had passed his lips and made their way down his throat. He thought he would have started to feel at least a little bit tipsy by now but he didn’t. He felt nothing but numb. The same as he’d felt since he’d been put inside.

***

You watched the man curiously over your glass. For almost twenty minutes he hadn’t moved a muscle. His back was rigid, his hands placed lightly on the bar either side of his drink. From where you sat she could see the side of his face and his eyes appeared to be trained somewhere above the bar.

He only blinked every few minutes. It was only because of this and because you could just make out the small movement of him breathing in and out that you knew he was human.

His phone had rung four times, you'd heard it across the bar but he hadn’t even seemed to register it.

The door of the bar opened and a small breeze blew through the bar and you watched his long, unruly hair shift ever so slightly.

You sipped your drink and tilted your head a little to the side whilst studying his profile. His nose was almost perfectly straight aside from a barely visible kink, his eyelashes were long and his lip was turned down.

You could tell he was tall by the way he had to curl his legs under the bar stool. One of the shoelaces on his battered black Converse high tops was undone. There were creases in the back of his pale pink shirt.

Another few minutes ticked by and he still didn’t move. You downed the remains of your drink and picked yourself up from her chair.

Your heeled boots clacked on the wooden floor as you made it to the bar, leaning on it and quickly getting the attention of one of the bar staff.

“Vodka soda please.” You placed your order.

You turned to your right. He was now within reaching distance. He still hadn’t moved an inch. You watched him until the bartender brought back your drink. You thanked him and paid.

You turned your body to face the man as you sipped your drink. Could he not even sense someone was in proximity?

You wanted to say something to him but you didn’t want to alarm him. This close you could make out his details better. His eyes that the long lashes surrounded were a deep hazel colour, rimmed with gold flecks and the skin underneath them was dark.

You could feel the weight he held now you were this close. There was a heavy aura surrounding him and his body reflected that in the way his shoulders sagged ever so slightly.

Every few minutes his nostrils would flare. A couple of times he slowly licked his bottom lip. You wondered if he was conscious of the things he was doing or not.

You got almost halfway through your drink while you watched him. It had been going on a half hour now since he’d last moved. It was intriguing and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him.

“You know it’s rude to stare don’t you?” His words were quiet and his voice low and croaky. You almost spluttered on your drink when he spoke.

“I...well I uhm…” you fought for the right words. You didn’t think he had noticed your presence. “Do you move?” You found yourself asking.

A long thirty seconds passed. You thought that he wasn’t going to interact again and you almost turned and walked away. Until slowly he turned his head, blinking a few times as he did so.

Your eyes met for the first time and you noticed the full extent of the dark circles under his. His gaze didn’t waver. He didn’t look you over, just kept his eyes trained on yours.

“Better?” Without shifting his gaze he took his whiskey tumbler in his hand and brought it to his lips.

Twenty eight sips and he still felt nothing.

“I guess.” You shrugged. “Don’t think that I care, because I don’t. I was just...intrigued. I’ve never seen anyone so deep in thought before.”

“I wasn’t deep in thought.” he countered, his tone slightly pointed as though you'd made some outrageous accusation. “I was staring at the clock, focusing on the seconds ticking by and nothing else. Counting the seconds and minutes so I didn’t have to think.” Not that I owe you an explanation of my actions.”

Spencer sipped his drink again. Still nothing.

He was articulate and well spoken. He didn’t trip over his words, they seemed calculated. Not scripted but not off the cuff.

His phone rang again for the fifth time. He still didn’t take his eyes off yours.

“You gonna get that?” You spoke, feeling suddenly self conscious of your own verse.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” his eyes snatched away from you now and he turned back to the clock once more. This time he drummed his long slender fingers on the counter top of the bar.

Was that your queue to leave? He’d made it perfectly clear that he didn’t want to talk to you and you shouldn’t care. You didn’t know him, it shouldn’t matter. But for some reason it did.

When most other people would have just walked away, you found yourself sliding into the bar stool next to the stranger.

His eyes were trained again on the clock and his hand that wasn’t drumming on the counter would periodically lift his glass to his lips so he could drink. You found the whole thing fascinating and if he still sensed you staring at him he didn’t say as much.

Several more minutes passed and his phone rang once more. This time you saw something flick momentarily in his eyes.

“Someone clearly wants to get hold of you.”

“JJ just wants to “check up” on me.” he muttered under his breath, using his fingers to air quote.

JJ. Girlfriend maybe? Why did he need checking up on?

“It’s nice to have someone to care.” You mentally scolded yourself at your words thinking you sounded very sorry for yourself. If he noticed he didn’t mention it.

“Hmmm.” was all he replied although it seemed more as though it was to himself than you.

He caught the attention of the bartender and with as few words as possible ordered his sixth drink.

“I’ll have what he’s having.” You added before the tender left.

“You’re not leaving are you?” he turned back to you again. This time he gave you a quick once over, but if you’d blinked you would have missed it.

He placed you in your late twenties to early thirties. Creative type he speculated due to the barely noticeable pencil smudge on the inside of your right index finger.

You were dressed nicely but not flashily in a pair of black tight fitting jeans, black heeled boots and dark green long sleeved blouse. You didn’t wear any jewellery aside from a pair of small silver hoops in your ears.

Your make-up was minimal, a little mascara and tinted lip gloss which was leaving marks on your glass as you drank. Your fingernails were trimmed short and your grey nail polish was chipped on almost every digit. It took him mere seconds to size you up.

“I mean, I can.” you shrugged, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I’m not going to force my witty conversation and dazzling personality on you.”

Over compensating he mused. You had deep seated insecurities. You really thought you were far from witty and dazzling he could tell in an instant. It was his job to see these things.

Your drinks were brought back over and he told the man to put them both on his tab. You didn’t argue, you just frowned at him.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s seven dollars, it’s not exactly going to break the bank.” He shrugged.

“Is this so I’ll go away?” you scrutinised him.

He let out a cold, dry laugh.

“I honestly don’t care what you do. Stay. Go. It’s all the same to me.” He leant his elbows on the bar and ran his fingers through his scruffy locks.

Most people would have left. Most people would have sensed he was in no mood for company and left him to him. And although you sensed that, you didn’t move.

“What did you mean when you said you were staring at the clock so you didn’t have to think?”

Spencer groaned audibly.

“You know what? Maybe you should go.” He turned to you again.

“I’m Y/N.” You held your free hand out. “Y/N Y/L/N.”

You watched him study your hand with a frown.

“Ok.” he replied.

“And you are?” you retracted your hand realising he wasn’t going to shake.

“Frustrated. Fed up. Irritated.”

“Why are you making this so hard?” you laughed. “I’m just trying to be friendly.”

“Why?” his eyes narrowed on you. His question threw you.

“Uhm...I don’t know.” you answered honestly. “Guess I’m just a friendly kind of person.”

You were lying, he could see it in your eyes and hear it in your voice. You didn’t make a habit of doing this which led him to wonder why you were bothering now. Why with him?

From the look on your soft features he could tell why. You had been him, you had been in his shoes. You’d been the depressed one at the bar and wanted nothing more than someone, anyone, just one person to sense you were struggling. You’d seen that in him and you’d decided to try and be that person for him.

Maybe he should cut you some slack. Maybe, but he was in no mood to be friendly.

“Would you not consider that a man is sitting alone at a bar because he’s waiting for someone?”

“Plausible.” you shrugged. “But you’re not. If you were waiting for someone you would have answered your phone when it rang because it could have been them telling you they were running late or couldn’t make it. Instead you ignored it. You ignored it because you wanted to be alone.”

You sounded like a profiler. That was his job.

“So you see a man at a bar who you can tell wants to be alone. Yet you still invite yourself over, sit down and continue to try and make conversation when you know he wants to be left alone.”

“I haven’t done anything to you.” you said as though you hadn’t even heard what he’d said. “You may be angry at the world but there’s no need to take it out on me, someone you don’t even know.” you stood now, smoothing down your blouse with your free hand. You reached in your purse, pulled out a ten dollar bill and tossed it on the bar. “I was just trying to be friendly but screw it. Have a good night. Enjoy your teenage angst episode or whatever this is.” you shook your head, turned on your heels and stormed away.

Spencer sighed to himself. You were right and he felt bad. He didn’t need to take his anger and frustrations out on you. You had been nothing but nice and he’d been a complete asshole.

What ensued for the next few minutes was an internal debate in his brain. On one hand he wanted to be alone, left to wallow in his own misery over a few glasses of top shelf whiskey.

But on the other hand he felt guilty for how he had treated you. He didn’t owe you anything and he was sure he would never see you again, not in a city the size of DC. But you had seemed sweet and he’d been uncharacteristically mean to you. Or maybe it was in character now? Maybe it was one of the pieces he had lost when he was inside, his compassion.

He’d shut everyone out. He put on a brave face and told everyone he was ok but that didn’t stop them looking at him like he was a victim; like he was broken. He would never admit to them how he was really feeling.

He got up every day, went into work and just got on with things the best he could. When people asked he said he was fine.

When Prentiss offered him more time off when he’d freaked out on a case a few weeks after being back he told her that he was fine and it was just a slip.

When JJ asked if he wanted to come to dinner with her and Will he declined every time stating he was tired.

When the team gathered at Rossi’s for a dinner party he had told them he had other plans.

Every time Garcia looked at him softly and asked “how are you doing, like really doing?” he would tell her was fine, really fine and that he didn’t need her worrying about him.

It was exhausting. He’d spent two months, three weeks, five days and close to seven hours lying to the people closest to him and it was completely and utterly draining.

His actions had been so far from the Spencer Reid he knew in that time he barely recognised himself when he looked in the mirror these days.

Maybe it would be nice to talk to someone who didn’t know he was entirely broken. Maybe it would be nice for someone to look at him with something other than pity in their eyes for a change. Maybe spending the night speaking to someone who didn’t know about his past would help him feel, even if only momentarily, normal?

The war inside him ended and he sighed. He quickly gulped down the whiskey, ordered two more and stood up. His legs were wobbly as he stood and he could feel the pins and needles kicking in from where he hadn’t moved in so long.

He picked up his brown leather messenger bag from the floor and slung it over his shoulder. He grabbed the drinks and on shaky legs started over to the booth in the corner of the bar.

You were looking at your phone in your hand as he approached but he could tell you sensed a presence. You locked the screen before looking up at him, your large eyes full of frustration that was directed right at him.

“Spencer. Spencer Reid. Most people just call me Reid.” he hovered next to the table.

“What’s that?” you pointed at the two glasses in his hands.

“A peace offering of sorts. The extending of an olive branch.” he waited for you to speak.

He gnawed on his bottom lip while you decided on your next move. Were you going to be the bigger person and invite him to sit down? Or would you return his iciness and send him packing?

You seemed to mull this over for a little while before you leant back in your chair.

“I suppose you better sit down then Reid.”

He gave you a slightly lopsided half-smile and slid into the other side of the booth. He placed the drinks on the table and slid one closer to you.

Silence followed, a kind that was almost deafening. He hadn’t thought of what he might say to you and social situations had never been his foray, even before everything that happened.

“You’re letting them win.” You finally spoke, taking a sip of your drink.

His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you.

“Who?”

“The demons in your head. You’re letting them win.” you smiled sardonically around your glass.

He couldn’t help but laugh at the statement. It was nice to laugh for a change, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that and meant it.

“I don’t know how not to.” he confessed, surprising himself with his honesty.

“Staring at clocks just so you won’t think doesn’t help. Sometimes, as scary as it is, we have to face those demons head on. Or they’ll just keep winning.”

“Statistically I only have a forty four percent chance of recovery.”

You narrowed your eyes on him, leaning forward on the table as though that would help you read him.

“Recovery from what?” your voice was riddled with concern which he found strange considering he was a stranger to you.

His heart pounded in his chest as he thought about the words, the diagnosis. It felt more like a heavy weight that hung around his neck, weighing him down more with each passing day.

“Post traumatic stress disorder. PTSD.”

Alvez had told him it was a syndrome and not a disorder because a disorder implied it couldn’t be cured. But Spencer wasn’t sure it could.

“Oh.” you played with a strand of your hair clearly at a loss for words for the first time since he’d met you.

Did you dare ask why? How? What had happened to him? That seemed too invasive even for you.

“That sucks.” you said instead.

Spencer found himself laughing again.

“Yes it certainly does.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“I feel like I’ve done nothing but talk about it for months. I’m kind of sick of hearing other people’s opinions on the matter.” He played with his hands on the table.

“No opinions or judgement here.” you held your hands up. “I don’t know you, I’m just here to lend an unbiased ear if you wish to unburden yourself.”

“Why?” His back went up again. “Why would you do that? You don’t know me. Why do you care?”

“I know what it’s like to live with demons. Hell mine have practically redecorated at this point. I could tell something was bothering you when I saw you across the bar and I thought maybe you could use someone to talk to. But hey, I don’t care either way.” you sat back and sipped your whiskey.

Spencer sighed heavily, almost as if he’d been holding it in for months and you saw him physically deflate. It would be easy to say nothing. He didn’t owe you anything. But he found himself speaking words he never thought he’d hear himself say again out loud.

“I was arrested in Mexico for drug possession. Then while I was in custody I was accused of murder. I spent over three months in a correctional facility.” three months, two weeks, five days and sixteen hours.

Your facial expression faltered but not as much as he’d expected. Your eyes widened slightly and your brow furrowed but he’d expected more of a reaction from his confession.

“Shit.” you sipped your drink. “That’s dark.”

And once again Spencer couldn’t contain his laughter.

“Yeah.” He laughed. “It’s pretty dark.”

“What happened? I mean...how I guess.”

Once again Spencer contemplated his next words. He could have told you didn’t want to discuss it further. He could have even just given you the vague, abridged version. But there was something in your eyes that told Spencer you really cared, for what reason he wasn’t sure.

He felt like he could talk to you without fear of judgement or repercussion. And so he found himself telling you, a complete stranger, everything.

He started by telling you he’d seen some things in his years with the BAU but nothing like this.

He told you about his mother and her schizophrenia and dementia and the fact he was in Mexico to get her medication.

He told you about his arrest, what he remembered of it due to being drugged. He told you about Nadie Ramos and the motel room.

He told you about his team coming to Mexico and getting him transferred to the Milburn Correctional Facility in the states. He told you about his numerous cognatives with Tara.

He went into great detail about how bad prison food was, how much handcuffs hurt but that they didn’t hurt anywhere near as bad as the beatings he’d endured. He told you how hard it was to pretend not to be an FBI agent when that’s all he’d ever really known. He told you of how he counted down the time on his cell walls.

He filled you in on Mr Scratch, Lindsey Vaughn and Cat Addams. He spoke of dancing in a prison interview room of a women’s correctional facility with the woman who put him behind bars, a pregnancy scare and crooked guards.

He told you everything. Every tiny detail from his arrest to release. Every sorry detail his eidetic memory forced him to never forget.

And you sat there patiently and listened to every single word out of his lips. Your gaze didn’t falter from his. You didn’t look bored or get distracted when someone entered the bar. You didn’t try and order another drink when your glass was empty. You didn’t even so much as glance at your phone a couple of times when messages popped up.

You nodded where appropriate. You offered the odd “yeah” or “oh god” when it seemed like it was required. As promised, you didn’t offer an opinion or judgement. You stayed silent and simply listened. Spencer wasn’t sure he’d ever really been listened to quite like this. Not even by professional therapists he’d paid to listen to him.

Almost an hour passed before he sighed loudly, leant on the table and ran his fingers through his hair.

“So that’s what happened.” He felt mentally drained. He was looking down at the table when he felt a soft, warm hand on his wrist.

“Jesus.” you breathed. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything.” He looked back up at you. Your eyes met in a kind of mutual understanding and you nodded. You removed your hand from his arm and flagged down a bartender.

“Two more. Better make them doubles.” you instructed the young man.

“You don’t know me.” Spencer sighed as he spoke. “Why did you just spend…” he glanced at his watch before continuing. “Fifty four minutes and eleven seconds listening to me?”

You suppressed a smile at his recital of the exact time he’d been talking.

“Because you looked like you needed to get it off your chest.” you shrugged. “Tell me you don’t feel at least a little lighter after that? A little less burdened.”

You were right. For the first time in months the weight of what he had been through lightened a little. He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yeah I guess I do.”

The bartender brought your drinks over and you handed him a twenty from your purse.

“But that still doesn’t answer why. What kind of person listens to a complete stranger's ramblings of arrests and drugs and con women?”

You laughed a little as you sipped your drink.

“I’ve had my share of darkness.” Something flickered in your eyes as you said this.

“A man.” Spencer mused out loud. “Not a father. Not a brother. Not a husband but a partner.”

“How would you possibly know that?” you raised your eyebrow inquisitively.

“I forgot to mention what it is I do for the FBI.” He smirked. “I’m a profiler.”

“Now that I didn’t see coming.” you chewed your lip. “Ok agent Reid, humour me. Tell me the facts to back up your theory.”

“Actually it’s Doctor Reid.” He sipped his drink with a wry smile. “And ok, I’ll bite.”

He put the drink down and leant closer to you, staring you right in the eyes. You felt as though he was looking straight into your soul and it made you nervous.

“For starters the obvious, you aren’t married because you don’t wear a ring. There’s no indentation or tan line on your ring finger so you’re not recently separated either.” He paused to gauge how he was doing so far.

You gave him a small nod of acknowledgment and urged him to continue.

“I know you watched me for a long time while I was sitting at the bar, I have fantastic peripheral vision so I could see you the whole time. I also noticed you earlier and your eyes always trained on the door when a man walked in, your gaze lingered if he was attractive so from that I garner you’re single.” He paused again.

Again you didn’t speak, neither to confirm or deny his words.

So Spencer continued.

“One of those men made eye contact with you. He even smiled at you but you simply looked away. I think that’s because you're single but not looking. I can also tell that by the way you’re dressed conservatively, covering your body from prying eyes. You’re not looking because you’ve been hurt, so badly that you don’t trust men.

I can tell by the way you are with me. You’re friendly but not flirtatiously so. You speak to me the way you would a distant cousin or old college friend you haven’t seen for years. You’re wary of me and you keep a safe distance. When you put your hand on my arm earlier the rest of your body tensed as you did so. When I speak about women your demeanour doesn’t change but when I mentioned the male members of my team you tightened. I noticed it specifically when I talked about the prison guard getting Cat pregnant.

The abuse of power is what got to you. Your whole stance changed, ever so slightly. Don’t get me wrong you have an excellent poker face and if I weren’t a profiler I wouldn’t have picked up on any of it. But those are the facts that back up my theory.” He sat back and rewarded himself with a sip of whiskey.

“You think you’re so good don’t you?” you mirrored him and sipped your drink also.

“I don’t think I’m good.” He shrugged.

“Cockiness doesn’t suit you Doctor Reid.”

“Knowing I’m good at my job doesn’t make me cocky.”

Suddenly you looked up at the clock on the wall.

“It’s getting late.” you informed yourself more than Spencer. You picked up your drink and finished it.

Spencer looked at his watch. You were right, it was nearing midnight. He had work in a few hours, so he should try and sleep off this whiskey before then.

He nodded and finished his drink as well. You both put on your jackets, yours a tight fitting leather number and his a long brown overcoat.

You waited for him while he paid his tab and you left together into the blustery autumn night.

Once on the street you turned to look at him.

“You live close by?”

“Not too close. I’ll probably get a cab.” He told you thinking it would be too late to jump on the metro.

“Ok.” you nodded. “Well I’m a few blocks that way.” you pointed behind you. “So I’m going to walk. Nice meeting you.”

You turned your back to him and started walking away. You made it nine steps before Spencer spoke again.

“I’ll walk you.” He quickly caught up with you.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“When you’ve seen what I’ve seen on these streets, I do.” He gave you a sad smile. Perks of the job. “And besides, I owe you for listening to me all night.”

You waved a hand as if to say it didn’t matter but you allowed him to walk with you.

You walked in silence, mostly talked out by this point.

It only took a few minutes for you to reach your apartment building. Spencer followed you into the lobby.

“Uhm...do you want to come up for a night cap?” you sounded more like you were asking out of politeness than actually wanting him to.

And Spencer had work so he should go home and try to feign sleep. Yet before he knew what had come over him, he was nodding.

“Ok.” He agreed.

You mentally thought back to the state of your apartment when you left for the evening. Was it as messy as you remembered? You guessed it was too late now.

You called the elevator and seconds later the doors creaked open and you both stepped inside. You pressed the button for the twelfth floor.

You stood on opposite sides of the elevator looking straight ahead.

You didn’t know why you had invited him up other than because you’d really enjoyed his company tonight even under the circumstances. You weren’t quite ready to go your separate ways.

But what happened once you were inside your apartment? You were definitely attracted to him but you couldn’t read him. And you were sure after all he’d talked about tonight, intimacy was the furthest thing from his mind.

But, he’d agreed to come upstairs which had to mean something, right? Maybe a one night stand was what he’d been after all along, it might help him take his mind off everything.

As the elevator slowly made its ascent you turned to look at him. As soon as he saw you looking at him, he met your gaze.

You kept your eyes on one another for several long seconds before you sighed. What did you have to lose?

“Screw it.” you muttered as you advanced.

Spencer caught you in his arms as you collided with him, your lips finding his in an instant.

For a moment Spencer just stood allowing you to kiss him without moving. He hadn’t seen this coming at all.

Of course you were beautiful, sweet and kind but he never had been the kind of man that had these intentions.

Yet he couldn’t himself. After a few seconds he loosened up and parted his lips to allow your tongue access. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, one hand on the small of your back and the other gripping the back of your neck.

You snaked your arms around his neck and held him close to you. You had to tiptoe to be able to kiss him.

The elevator dinged and the doors creaked open but the kiss didn’t break. You moved your hands from his neck to the collar of his coat and began pulling him towards the open door.

He followed you down the corridor, the kiss deepening all the while. When you reached your door the kiss broke and you were both gasping for air.

He was aroused, he couldn’t help himself. It had been a long time since a woman had kissed him in that way, especially one so beautiful. He hoped it wasn’t too obvious.

You smiled as you took in his flushed cheeks. At least you hadn’t completely misread the situation. You pulled your keys from your purse and slipped it in the lock but before you unlocked the door he spoke.

“I can’t do this.” His voice was low and almost shy. You turned back to face him with a slight frown.

“What?” you asked although you knew what he meant.

“This.” He pointed between you. “It isn’t...this isn’t me.” He took a small step backwards. “I’m not this kind of man.”

At least he hadn’t been before he went to prison. Maybe he was this kind of man now?

“What kind of man?” you frowned in confusion.

Spencer gnawed his bottom lip and used his hand to sweep his hair back off his face.

“I’m not a making out in elevators, going home with a woman I just met kind of man. I’m not the kind of man that does this. Sex is a big deal to me.” He blushed at his words feeling slightly pathetic.

“It’s ok.” you surprised him when you smiled. “I kind of admire that.”

“You do?”

“Yes.” you laughed. “I get it, Reid I do. And as much as I would love you to come into my apartment right now, the last thing I ever wanted to do was make you feel uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t.” He shook his head. “This actually turned out to be one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time. Thank you Y/N. For everything.”

Your smile grew and you stepped closer to him. You got on your tiptoes and placed the gentlest of kisses on his stubbly cheek.

“You’re so very welcome Reid.”

He blushed again, loving the way his name sounded on your lips.

“It was a pleasure to meet you Y/N Y/L/N.” He thought about asking for your number but he knew that would be a bad idea.

He’d been attracted to you from the moment he first saw you but now you had shared that kiss he wanted you more than he’d ever wanted another person in his life. But he was a mess right now. His whole world had been turned on its head and the last thing he wanted was to drag someone else into that mess. Least of all you, the incredible woman standing in front of him.

“The pleasure was all mine, Doctor Spencer Reid.” your smile now seemed a little shy as you gave him a small wave.

He watched you turn back to your door and unlock it. You stepped inside the apartment and you shared one last look.

He returned your wave and then you closed the door and were gone.

Spencer exhaled heavily, shaking his head at his own stupidity.

He mentally berated himself the whole way back down in the elevator. Sex is a big deal to me, his words kept playing over in his head. What must she think of me?

He was sure he’d be the number one topic of gossip for you and your friends for weeks to come. The poor, pathetic profiler spilling his darkest secrets to you in the bar and then turning down a night of fun and passion.

Not all things changed he supposed. He hadn’t been the one night stand kind of man before he went into prison and clearly he still wasn’t.

He got out onto the street and quickly hailed a cab and gave the driver his address. He closed his eyes and leant his head back against the headrest.

A part of him wished he was that man, right now especially. He wished he could be more like Derek Morgan or Luke Alvez. He pictured what could have awaited him on the other side of your door.

He imagined touching every inch of your soft skin, running his fingers through your locks and kissing you until both of your lips were numb.

He imagined you panting his name and how magical it would sound. He pictured wrapping his body tightly around yours, every inch of your bodies melding together.

He imagined watching your beautiful soft features as you fell asleep, stroking your hair back and placing gentle kisses on your neck.

By the time he made it home and paid the driver he was aroused again and for the first time in two months, three weeks, five days, eight hours and thirty seven minutes, he wasn’t thinking about prison.

He was thinking about you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Taglist -

All ships & genres -

@muffin-cup @andiebeaword @measure-in-pain @takeyourleap-of-faith @spencers-dria @sexy-dumpster-fire

SR x reader -

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@nani-2305 @rainsong01 @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @safespacespence @shemarmooresfedora @pastelbabygirl19 @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @people-whatabunchofbastards @justreadingficsdontmindme

#miss you

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