part I | part II
Spencer always finds something empowering at the local department store. Or, the one where Spencer takes interest in more "feminine" things, and ultimately discovers his new favourite hobby.
Parts: 2
Word count: 1152
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Trigger/content warnings: implied drug usage/addiction, referenced torture, implied sexual content (non-descriptive)
Relationships: Spencer x Ethan
A/N: written for day 16 of @mrsh0tchner ‘s Criminal Minds discord writing challenge
Word count: 640
Summary: A short drabble about what happened when Spencer missed the plane (s2 e18: Jones)
The past few weeks had been more difficult than Spencer could've ever imagined. Nightmares tore through his dreams, dragging him away from whatever fantasy land he was in and throwing him right back to that cabin in Georgia, his hands bound in front of him and monitors in front of him, reminding him that he'd chosen someone to save, allowing someone else to die. When he was awake, his veins itched, his whole body begging for another high. If what happened before wasn't already, this reality he was somehow managing to survive in was certainly hell.
Thankfully, three weeks later, a case had brought him to New Orleans, letting him reconnect with an old friend who happened to have some insight on those exact difficulties he'd been facing. Ethan almost seemed too good for him. His flaws showed Reid that he wasn't perfect, but he was certainly human. Spencer had never known just how hard he could fall for someone after just one night of reconnecting.
There wasn't much to risk- neither had made an effort to reach out to each other after Ethan's departure from Quantico- so Spencer took his shot. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?
Most of him expected to lose his childhood friend all over again, and a smaller, more reasonable part of him figured Ethan would simply shrug off the impromptu confession. He was a jazz musician, after all, he was born to go with the flow.
What he didn't expect, however, was to be back at Ethan's, legs wrapped around his waist and lips pressed to lips, making out like teenagers until they made it to the bed.
"Wow," Spencer muttered again for at least the third time since they'd settled down.
"You alright, babe?" Ethan whispered, running his hand through his boyfriend's hair. They were holding each other gently, skin against skin underneath the blankets, basking in the warmth and peace of the moment.
Spencer let out a gentle hum, nodding against the other's chest. All he could mutter was, "'m tired," before yawning, his eyes lidded with sleep.
After placing a soft kiss against his soft chestnut locks, Ethan rolled out of the bed, leaving Spencer's eyes freshly following him. He didn't stay away for long, quickly returning to the bed after flipping off the light switch, but by the time he reached the bed, he could tell Spencer's entire demeanor had changed.
"E?" He muttered, sitting up a little and blinking, adjusting to the absence of light while he tried to spot his boyfriend.
"I'm right here, love," he cooed in return, “what's the matter?"
A relieved sigh left his lips as he sunk back against the pillow. "Come back to bed," he whispered, his tone a little on edge as he outstretched his arms towards Ethan.
There was a moment that Ethan just stood there, admiring just how pretty he was, before crawling back under the covers, allowing Spencer to cling onto him once again. "You're tense, baby," his gruff voice sounded, breaking the delicate silence of the room around them, "what's on your mind?"
Spencer buried his face in the skin of his side, shaking his head in lieu of responding.
"What, you scared of the dark or something?"
Immediately Spencer shook his head, a little too quickly to not be suspicious.
"Wait, seriously?"
Spencer stayed absolutely still, not a single sound leaving him. "Promise not to laugh?" His voice was a meek whisper as he asked, hoping for the answer to be a yes.
"Promise."
"I'm-... yeah," Spencer admitted. "It's not really the dark, but the absence of light that frightens me."
Spencer felt a finger under his chin gently tilt his head up, now directly facing Ethan. "It's okay," he whispered as he leaned down, placing a gentle kiss to his lips, "you're safe with me"
Trigger/content warnings: Self-esteem issues, mentions of past harassment, mentions of nudity (non-sexual, non-descriptive)
Relationships: Spencer Reid x Luke Alvez
A/N: Written for prompt 15 of @mrsh0tchner ‘s Criminal Minds discord writing challenge
Prompt: “I don’t care what they say. you’re worth everything.”
Word count: 2395
“I look in the mirror every day, when I brush my teeth or wash my face or comb my hair. It's just I tend to look at myself in pieces and avoid joining them up all together. I don't know why; it just feels safer that way.
But tonight I force myself to look at the whole thing. And suddenly I see how the bits and pieces add up to someone I'm not familiar with, someone I never intended to be.”
― Kathleen Tessaro, Elegance
“Cariño [1], what on earth are you doing?” Luke questioned, an amused grin lighting up his features. He couldn’t help the small chuckle that slipped past his lips when Spencer simply stared at him before returning to attempting to lift a stack of books that was just a little too much for him to handle. After a moment of waiting and still not receiving an answer, Luke decided to sit on the couch, watching his boyfriend as if he was the most entertaining show in the world. When a book slipped off the top of the stack, causing him to lose control over the rest, Luke finally decided to help, picking up the majority of the books and bringing them across the room with ease. “Talk to me, baby,” he prompted once again, seeing that Spencer’s stern expression had lightened a little.
“I moved here in 2003,” Spencer explained. “Right after I got out of Quantico. I’ve kept my apartment the same way since then, yet everything else has changed. This, I decided, should also change.”
Luke simply nodded in response, glancing around the rest of the living room, which was clearly disheveled in a way that would take beyond a days worth of work to get it looking better. “Want a hand with it?”
Reid offered a small shrug in response. He didn’t really need the help- at least, he didn’t want to admit it- but if Luke insisted… “Sure.” Within a few hours, they had the living room completely reorganized, including Spencer’s books, which he’s always been so adamant about keeping in order. Then, after taking a short break for coffee, it was time to move onto Spencer’s bedroom.
————————————————-
“What if we moved the bookshelf over a bit?” Luke wondered, earring an unsure nod from Spencer.
“I guess so, yeah,” He muttered, grabbing onto the bookcase and waiting for the other to lift his end. With little struggle, they successfully scooted it far enough to the side for a noticeable difference, but not enough to obstruct the doorway.
Luke flicked his eyes over the olive green wall, his eyebrow raising a little. “I didn’t know this was a full sized mirror,” he stated in a way that made it sound more like a question than anything else.
Spencer offered a shrug, along with, “it’s always been one,” in a way that had a slightly defensive edge to it. The placing of the bookshelf was intentional. Mirrors were expensive, and Spencer had happened to get it relatively inexpensively at a yard sale, and it gained bonus points in Spencer’s book for the borders that were beveled with a brass that fit the aesthetic of his flat almost perfectly. Sure, he would’ve preferred one that was shorter, but there was no way he could pass up the opportunity. The afternoon he hung up the new decor was the same afternoon he’d pushed the chest-high bookshelf over a few feet, covering more than half of the new installment.
“It looks pretty good,” Luke offered, narrowing his eyes slightly as he observed how Spencer reacted to what he said. The nod the brunet had responded with seemed genuine enough. “Why do you keep it covered?”
Spencer’s features twisted in thought while he contemplated what he should say. “Honestly?” He asked, getting a nod from the other. If he lied, Luke would know, but the answer seemed almost hurtful. “I um,” he hesitated, taking a minute to swallow despite the dryness in his mouth. “Because I don’t usually like what I see. I haven’t in a long time.”
Chestnut eyes fell to the hardwood flooring before they were able to see the heartbreak and concern in the other man’s eyes.
“Spencer?”
“Yeah?”
“You… don’t like yourself?” Luke asked, choosing his words carefully.
Spencer felt his shoulders slump a little as he gave a pitiful nod. “Yeah… physically, at least.”
Any semblance of a smile dropped from Luke’s face, his lips falling into a frown. “Sweetheart,” he whispered, earning a sharp and impatient glance from Spencer.
“Can we keep going, please?”
The way that Spencer changed the subject, deflected the question, his tone almost begging Luke not to pry, broke Luke’s heart. Spencer was the most beautiful man he’d ever met, and it was almost painful to know that he couldn’t see that. Nevertheless, Luke nodded, asking what he could do next.
Around eight, they were both satisfied with the way they had rearranged the room. The changes weren’t as drastic, considering there was more room and furniture to work with in the living room, but it was still enough of a change. There was silence between them following shortly after the small comments about how nice the room looked. “Hey babe?"
“Hm?”
“Take off your clothes,” Luke said, his tone questioning yet firm, giving Spencer room to say no if he wanted to.
Spencer whipped around to face his boyfriend, squeaking out a confused, "What?!”
“I asked if you could take off your clothes. It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Luke clarified, “I just want to try something.”
Spencer gave him a confused look, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he began to unbutton his shirt. He trusted Luke- whatever he had in mind wouldn’t hurt him. Once the brunette had undressed, Luke gently pushed against his shoulder, bringing him to look at himself in the mirror.
“I want you to list five things you like about yourself.” When Spencer’s mouth opened to answer, Luke added, “physical things,” making him close it right away. Some days he appreciated certain features more than others, but today- today he couldn’t think of anything.
“Okay,” Alvez said, noting his silence, “Baby steps. How about three. Can you do that?”
His heart broke a little more when Spencer shook his head. “How about two?”
The way Spencer gulped, eyes blinking shut as if he wanted to escape the reality he was in, gave him an answer no different than the last. “One?” Luke questioned, his tone drowned with concern at this point. Since they’d started dating, he was always aware that Spencer had issues with his self-image. He never failed to express how he felt that he was “too skinny,” or “too lanky”, “too tall”, or “too awkward”, but it had never occurred to him just how bad it was.
“When you see your body,” Alvez wondered, gazing at his boyfriend through the mirror, “what do you think of?”
He gave a few harsh blinks, trying to think of his body as if it were someone else’s, but even that didn’t seem to work. The younger man just looked himself over a few times, thoroughly taking in what he’d avoided looking at in years. Eventually, his eyes met his boyfriend’s through the mirror. “I think of what they said to me,” he replied almost shamefully.
His brows knitted in confusion. “What who said?”
Spencer let out something of a breathy and sad chuckle, his gaze dropping and eyes shifting away from the mirror, landing on a plane spot of wall he hadn’t seen since he moved in. “Half of… pretty much everyone in school.” Luke’s silence probed him to continue. “When they finally decided that treating me like a punching bag wasn’t enough, so they stripped me and laughed at me for hours.”
“Spence,” he muttered, but the other man wasn’t finished.
Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes as he continued. “They tied me to a goal post and just… left me there while everyone got their turn to dissect every little insecurity I had about… pretty much everything.” Spencer looked up, tearful eyes meeting his boyfriend’s once again. “So, that’s what I see.”
Thick silence sat hung in the air between the two men as they simply looked at one another, both keeping many words unsaid. All Luke wanted to do was lay his boyfriend down and pepper him with kisses and compliments, while Spencer only wanted to feel the comfort of his own clothes against his flesh again. They were like his protection from the world- the more clothes he wore, the less others could see of him. It had always baffled Luke when he wore a cardigan in 80 degree weather, but it was the little things like that that made him feel safe, even if he was constantly on the verge of passing out from the heat. “Can… I put my clothes back on now?”
“Yeah,” Luke said, his voice a near whisper. “I’m sorry, Spencer, I never realized-”
“It’s okay,” he cut him off, “not a lot of people do.” Spencer reached for the bed, grabbing his boxers and slipping them back on, already feeling more comfortable with the fabric against his skin. Although it was only a few minutes that he stood in front of the mirror, the awful feeling of discomfort that he worked effortlessly to put at bay began to creep up on him. It was, without a doubt, exhausting. “Thanks for the help today, but I think I’m going to hit the hay. I’m just-”
“Drained, emotionally?” Luke offered, a feeling of guilt washing over him when the taller man nodded. “Do you mind if I stay?”
A shallow smile decorated Spencer’s lips as he nodded. “Not at all.” Reid climbed onto the bed and pulled the covers over himself. Getting into bed was always one of his favourite parts of the day. The warm embrace of his fluffy blanket was like sensory heaven, always helping to calm him after a rough day. “There should be some leftover Chinese in the fridge if you’re hungry.” Spencer hadn’t paid much attention to the rest of the world once he was cozy under the covers, and the last thing he had expected was for Luke to climb into bed behind him, having already changed into a set of pyjamas he knew Spencer loved the feel of, and pull him close, his chest resting against Spencer’s back. Neither said a word, but they both enjoyed the contact.
They both laid in the comfortable silence, letting their breath and heartbeats sink, chests rising and falling in time with one another. Spencer was sure the man behind him was asleep until he heard his name being muttered softly behind him. “Spencer,” Luke repeated, earning a small hum from the other man to acknowledge his words. “I love you. You know that, right?” Reid was almost shamefully quiet, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to believe what Luke said.
“You shouldn’t,” he finally whispered, breaking Luke’s heart all over again. “I’m not worth it.” Spencer could practically hear the people taunting him, telling him he was worthless while he struggled in his constraints, convincing him that there wasn’t a single lovable thing about himself.
Before, Luke would’ve scolded Spencer, assuming that it was just his own self-doubt, but now he knew it was more than that. Fighting yourself was one thing, but fighting the voices that lingered in your head was another. “I don’t care what they said,” Luke stated, his breath ghosting against Spencer’s neck as he spoke. “You’re worth everything.” He could tell Spencer didn’t believe it.
“I love your hair. It’s so fluffy and messy and so perfectly you.”
“Luke,” Spencer muttered, “you don’t need to do this.”
“But I want to. I love your eyes, how they can convey so much without you even saying a word. And I love your cheeks and the way they light up when I fluster you. Your lips are incredible, so soft and soothing, and your smile can light up an entire room.” A soft sigh fell from Spencer’s lips as he listened to Luke.
“Your arms are amazing and I always feel safe when you hold me. And your hands. They’re so strong, yet so gentle.” Luke stopped to place a tender kiss against the crook of his neck, brightening the smile on his face.
“Your chest is always the perfect place for me to rest my head while you remind me how much I mean to you. I love your stomach, and the way that your muscles are defined in a way that’s so uniquely you.” His hand ghosted over Spencer’s abs, tracing the light definition around them.
Luke slid his hand around a little, gently rubbing his boyfriend’s stomach before resting on his hip. “You also have a very nice ass,” he stated matter-of-factly, only a slight goofiness in his tone.
Spencer could only gauf in response. “Luke!” He reached behind himself and let the back of his hand hit Alvez’s chest while blush coated his cheeks.
A languid hum passed Luke’s lips, causing a shiver to run down the younger man’s spine when he placed a chaste kiss to the back of his neck. “It’s true,” he muttered, his voice muffled by the other’s skin.
A small sigh escaped Spencer’s lips. “Thank you,” he’d muttered, burying his face in a pillow to hide his embarrassment.
“See, now that’s the proper response,” Luke stated, pressing a kiss against the other’s shoulder blade.
“Luke, mi vida [2],” Spencer breathed, the shiver that went down his spine from the kiss leaving him near breathless.
“I’m not done yet, hermoso [3].” Luke continued the way he had before, listing every little feature about Spencer from head to toe and one of the many reasons he loved it. “I love you,” Luke whispered, gently kissing at the other’s neck, “and there’s a million reasons why I should. You’re kind, you’re smart, you’re handsome, and you love me. What’s not to love about that?”
Spencer didn’t say anything in response. He couldn’t, and he didn’t need to. The way that he pulled Luke’s hand to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of his hand was enough to show how much it meant to him. “I know it doesn’t fix anything that anyone’s said, but I hope you hear my voice in your head next time you or anyone else says anything ill about you.”
There were so many things Spencer could’ve said. Thousands of words passed through his mind, each one part of a thought he ever so desperately needed Luke to know. The most important one, however, was the only thing he said. The rest could wait.
“I love you.”
————————————————-
Translations:
[1]Darling
[2]My life (affectionate nickname for one’s partner)
[3]Beautiful
Word count: 894
Summary: He let out a small chuckle, wondering how the cashier would've reacted if she knew the makeup he'd gotten was for himself.
Masterlist | Part I | Part II
It had been almost a month since Spencer had bought the dress. He didn't just like it, he loved it. He'd bought another dress since then, equally as plain but this one with thin straps and a knee-length, skin-tight skirt. He shaved his legs and under his arms regularly now, and whenever he needed a confidence booster, he'd throw on one of the garments and flaunt around in it, pretending he was the queen of the world.
Although he never dared show this side of himself to his colleagues, it was these little pieces of the agent that made him the ideal candidate to join JJ, Emily, and Garcia on their trip to the mall. Being accompanied by a man allowed for the three of them to enjoy themselves without worrying that they'd be followed, but Spencer was certainly no stranger to the stores they visited. He was more than happy to "oh" and "aw" over dresses that Garcia tried on, ramble on about colour theory to provide JJ with insight to which shades of shirts she should purchase, and help guide Prentiss through the sizing of men's pants so she'd be able to wear something with functioning pockets. Overall, he had a great time with his friends.
Sometime after dinner, the four found their way into Sephora's, and, inevitably, went to get a free makeover. Garcia enjoyed testing how flamboyant the employees could make her makeup, JJ liked it because it reminded her if her youth, and Prentiss because it made up for the teenage years that she'd never spent in that typical way. Spencer waited to the side patiently, more than glad to hold a mirror up for one of his friends when they wanted to see the progress done on them so far.
Something about makeup intrigued the genius. Dating as far back as the first dynasty of Egypt, it had been a sign of wealth. Women in Italy would wear lipstick to indicate their high class, and people in northern Europe used chalk to lighten their complexion. The lighter the face, the less you were assumed to work, and therefore the richer the general public believed you were. Now, it was worn for so much more. Adventurous people like Garcia wore flashy colours to express themselves, insecure people used it to cover up their flaws- heck, even Spencer used some almost-matched concealer occasionally to lighten his eye bags, and other people used thick eyeliner and lush eyelashes to simply feel beautiful.
Maybe he should try it some day. He wouldn't be able to do much past some foundation, highlight, and maybe a bit of blush, at least for work, but it would be something.
He hadn't expected for today to be that day, but when Garcia hopped off of the chair, profusely thanking the clerk for the sunset eye that matched her orange-and-pink striped dress, then offered Spencer the opportunity to get his makeup done, he couldn't help but smile. He hesitated, though, wondering what the others would think if he went for it. JJ was encouraging and Emily gave him a playful shove forward, and even the clerk patted the seat, happily welcoming him up for a makeover, and Spencer couldn't refuse. He grinned a wide smile before the woman began to apply some makeup, and at that point he simply shut his eyes and tapped his thumb and forefinger together, happy to be doing this without anyone there questioning him.
When the clerk backed up and Penelope eagerly held up a mirror for him, Spencer practically beamed like a child on Christmas morning. It wasn't anything much, but the different powders and creams worked together to smooth out his typically sharp features in a way that he undeniably loved. The corners of his lids were drawn out with short cat eyes, and a light seafoam eyeshadow dusted his bottom lid, peaking out just below the eyeliner and adding a pop of colour to his otherwise simple look.
With a huge smile, he thanked the clerk, who in turn chuckled and said it was always a pleasure to see men who discarded societal beliefs and were up for a makeover.
Later that night, he found himself in a drug store, checking out with different colours of eyeliner, several types of powders, and some of the cheap yet colourful palettes, wondering if he'd ever get himself to look like the same goddess he had earlier, or if he had even bought the right stuff to do so. The cashier, recognizing that most of his items were the sorts of makeup you'd buy for someone who doesn't have experience in that field, made a comment about him being a great father and asked how old his daughter was. He simply chuckled, wondering how she would've responded if he said everything was for himself.
Spencer certainly wasn't the best at doing his own makeup, but with time and practice, he became more confident in his abilities, and eventually, he ended up wearing a subtle amount of makeup to work nearly every day, earning him smiles from his female co-workers that could definitely tell, and no reaction from the others. Part of him felt like he was trying to hide himself from the world, but the other felt like he was trying to put himself out there. Maybe he should try that sometime.
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Summary: Spencer always finds something empowering at the local department store. Or, the one where Spencer takes interest in more "feminine" things, and ultimately discovers his new favourite hobby.
Chapters: 2
Word count: 1152
Tag: #department stores fic
"Don’t be into trends. Don’t make fashion own you, but you decide what you are, what you want to express by the way you dress and the way you live."
— Gianni Versace
Chapter 1: Right
In short, dresses just weren't made for Spencer Reid, and he was alright with that. That fact, however, didn't stop him from looking.
Word count: 658
Chapter 2: Goddess
He let out a small chuckle, wondering how the cashier would’ve reacted if she knew the makeup he’d gotten was for himself.
Word count: 894
Word count: 658
Summary: In short, dresses just weren't made for Spencer Reid, and he was alright with that. That fact, however, didn't stop him from looking.
Spencer padded down the isles of the department store, browsing the racks and seeing if there was a particular sweater or vest that caught his eye. Most of the year he settled for thrifting- it was far less expensive and offered some clothes with a quality that you'd never be able to find today- but come late spring, he'd splurge a little, usually buying a new outfit or two that appealed to him. As he reached the clearance racks in the men's section, he couldn't stop his eyes from wandering across the aisle that separated him from the women's section.
The doctor always had a certain fondness for the style of dresses. With the way they flowed, they could turn any normal, clumsy person into an elegant creature, the shimmers and sparkles always catching his eye and the swift movements of the fabric enchanting him. But dresses weren't for him, he reminded himself as he turned back to the polo shirts that lay in neatly folded stacks on the shelf next to him. Dresses were to enhance people's pre-existing gracefulness and beauty. Spencer was simply gangly and awkward, looking like a mix between a sleep-deprived corpse and an androgynous muppet on his best days.
Not to mention that he was a man. Sure, he had questioned it a few times, but he always ended up back where he started, just a little more confident in his identity. As he knew, gender was a social construct, but wasn't everything? He could certainly be professional and reasonable and still remain a cis man if he wore a dress, but for some reason, society didn't feel the same way. If he ever walked into work wearing a gown that danced around his ankles, then he'd be considered "feminine" and "too unprofessional". A fool, even.
In short, dresses just weren't made for Spencer Reid, and he was alright with that.
That fact, however, didn't stop him from looking. His eyes drifted from a shelf with piles of shirts across the isle, wandering along the beautiful dresses. Clutching the outfit that he'd already chosen, he began to walk in that direction, taking in the sights of all the dresses. The store had a variety of them, from ones that Spencer might see his co-workers wear to frocks that teeter on the very edge of being just right and too flashy for prom. The hot pinks and light purples were eye-catching, golds and silvers stunning, but the agent found himself drawn to the darker blues and greens, colours that could surely make up the sea.
And oh, there was one that Spencer just couldn't take his eyes off. It certainly wasn't anything that he'd consider wearing to something work-formal, but to an exquisite party, perhaps. The body of it was composed of a thin, nude fabric, whereas the arms and legs were made of a light mesh, both materials covered in emerald gemstones to create a sparkly, full-length bodysuit. A satin skirt wrapped halfway around the waist, leaving the legs exposed as the rest draped to the ground. It was breathtaking. And he'd love to wear it someday. He'd like to wear it. He could picture himself strutting down a runway in it, the gorgeous fabrics draping over him and giving him the confidence of a goddess. Oh, to have that dress.
-.-.-.-.-
Spencer returned to his apartment that night with a new cardigan and a simple black dress. There was no lace, no frills, no sequins or sparkles or rhinestones or anything, just a long, plain black dress. But when he tried it on, something about it looked right. It felt right, and it was incredible. The small slit up the side revealed his unshaven legs and his features were far too sharp to suit the gentle curves of the garment, but it still looked right. When he stepped back and gave it a spin, he felt like he could take over the world.
Trigger/content warnings: Dead-naming in in the context of formality
Word count: 353
Summary: A short fic about how Spencer’s first day at the BAU could’ve gone in celebration of pride month
Spencer glanced around the room, all eyes- the only set of eyes- pinned on him. No, he wasn't being questioned, it was just a quick introduction question, but it still made his anxiety shoot through the roof. He was more than sure of his answer, but that didn't stop his breaths from quickening and hands from trembling.
-.-.-.-.-
When he woke up, the young genius was (once again) beyond ecstatic about the letter he had received a week prior.
"Dr. Sandra W. Reid,"
Oh, how he hated that name. His mother had named him after a fabulous woman whom he'd grow up to admire very much (Sandra Day O'Connor, the first woman appointed to the Supreme Court only a matter of weeks before Spencer had been born), but his dead name reminded him of a certain sense of femininity that he had long since discarded.
"Your work in the missing persons unit has been remarkable over the past year. We would like to congratulate you on your acceptance into the Behavioural Analysis Unit's training program. Please see attached for more information about the program, such as your schedule and teams you will be training with."
This was a dream come true. The BAU, being made up of 40 of the Bureaus most experienced agents, would be an honor just to train with, let alone be a part of someday. He didn't know when that would be, but he was already one step further to his goal, which seemed to be closer than ever.
-.-.-.-.-
So there he stood, one painfully slow week later, introducing himself to the five agents that he'd be shadowing for the next little while, beginning with one of the men who started the unit.
"What's your name?" Gideon had asked, a question that undoubtedly brought a wave of nervousness over the younger agent. The person standing in front of him certainly wasn't what Jason had pictured the newest recruit to look like, but didn't see the purpose in mentioning it.
"Spencer," he replied, filling the seemingly endless silence that had settled between them while offering a small smile. "Doctor Spencer Reid."
"A name represents identity, a deep feeling and holds tremendous significance to its owner."
-Rachel Ingber
Originally posted to my Ao3 on 5/26/21
Also posted on my main blog
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Trigger/content warnings: Kidnapping, death, mentions of blood (non-descriptive)
Relationships: Spencer Reid x Maeve Donovan
Spoilers: Season 8, episode 12: "Zugzwang"
Prompt: "Apologizing before they pass out"
Word count: 1062
Summary: What if Diane had taken Spencer's offer: "me for her"?
zug·zwang
noun
a situation in which the obligation to make a move in one's turn is a serious, often decisive, disadvantage.
From the minute that he'd answered the phone in the park, he knew this wouldn't end well. And yet, adrenaline continued to pump through his veins, taking him a step closer to a sight he'd never wanted to see. His hands shook and his face was desperate, but his voice managed to keep an ounce of calm.
"Diane, Diane," Spencer began. He sounded as if he was pleading for his own life, when in reality, it was the complete opposite. "There's still a way out of this-"
Diane's sharp voice cut him off. "You never wanted me. Never! You lied!" She yelled. Maeve's eyes widened with fright as she felt the arm around her tighten and the gun dig into the skin of her neck.
"I didn't. Diane, I offered you a deal and you can still take it." His eyes pleaded, switching between Diane and Maeve as if that would give just the slightest chance of her letting his love go. "Me for her. Let me take her place."
How could someone love another so much that he'd die for them, yet her parents couldn't even seem to stay alive for her? "You would do that?"
"Yes."
"You would kill yourself for her?"
"Yes."
That type of love was far from anything that Diane could fathom, yet she wanted to destroy it nonetheless.
She let her arm lower, removing the gun from where it pressed ever so harshly against Maeve's neck. As soon as Diane's grip loosened, she ran free, taking a spot standing behind Spencer. Even when an agent behind her told her to go, she didn't budge.
"Maeve, go." The tears in his eyes as he turned to meet hers held a mix of emotion. Maeve would live. But, he knew full well that meant that he wouldn't. He would never get to see the smile that she gave him before leaving with Blake again. He'd never get to call his mom again. There were so many things that he'd never do again, but that was okay. Maeve would live.
He didn't want to die. Although it was bountyless, he attempted to offer a government deal again.
The only thing that Hotch and Morgan could do was watch in horror as Diane drew her gun again. Unknowingly, Reid had positioned himself in such a way that neither of the agents could get a clear shot of her without moving. If they moved, he died. He would die anyways.
Bang.
Two of the agents ran as the third fell to the floor.
Bang.
Hotch shot while Derek slid his gun into his holster. Without a care for his own safety, he'd ran to his friend.
"C'mon Reid, Reid, stay with me, man." A tear rolled down his cheek as he watched Spencer's hazy eyes drift somewhere between in and out of consciousness. One arm cradled his neck, his hand cupping his cheek, while his other applied pressure to the wound on his chest. He knew it wouldn't do much- there was already too much blood- but if there was any chance at saving his friend, Morgan would take it.
His vision was blurry and spotted, and nothing seemed to focus. "Morgan?" His voice weak and somewhat raspy, but calm overall. There was no hint of panic or pain that's expected in a dying person's tone.
"Yeah. Yeah, it's me, Spencer." A relieved smile appeared on his sorrowful face. He may be weak, but he wasn't dead.
"I don't think you've ever called me 'Spencer'," he remarked. Given the other's silence, he added, "I guess there really is a first time for everything." The two laughed for a moment, despite how painful it was on Spencer's part. It was soon interrupted by a few heavy yet frail coughs, bringing blood from his throat. The young doctor lifted his trembling hand to wipe the crimson that dripped from the corner of his mouth, then rested it atop Morgan's hand. "Is Maeve okay?"
He nodded softly, but quickly realized that he probably couldn't have seen it when he repeated his question. "Yes, she's just outside." This news brought him a relieved smile as he closed his eyes. "No, no, no. I'm not gonna lose you. C'mon, Pretty Boy."
"I'm still here," he muttered, "just tired." Spencer leaned into Derek's hand while gently rubbing his thumb over the other. "Maybe I'll finally get some sleep," he joked. It pulled a sad laugh from Morgan, but he was right, no matter if he lived or died. Reid took a moment to rest like that, almost as if he'd need some energy to get back up. But he knew that wouldn't happen. A slightly familiar cooling sensation washed over him, causing him to shiver oh so slightly. "Morgan, can you do something for me?"
"Anything."
Spencer sighed, looking to Derek hoping that he'd meet his eyes. "Tell Maeve that I love her." His voice waivered while tears slipped down his cheeks. He'd hoped he would've been the one to tell her, but he had to know that someone would.
"No, no," he shook his head as he talked. "You'll be able to tell her that yourself."
"But you said that she's okay..?"
Spencer watched the droplet roll down his friend's face, mesmerized by the way it glistened in the dull light. He wanted to reach up and wipe it, reassure him that things would be okay, but he couldn't. His limbs felt so heavy, so instead, he gave Morgan's hand a squeeze. "I'm sorry," he rasped.
"No, kid, hang on. There's medics on the way."
He admired the hope that his friend had. If only things could work out the way Derek wanted them to. He gave a sad smile while helplessness and fear swam in his eyes. "I'm so sorry."
"It's okay, kid. Everything's going to be alright." Spencer nodded, gently pulling Morgan's hand away from his chest and clutching it with both of his own. A weak cough escaped him as he closed his eyes, still clinging on to his friend for dear life.
When Morgan repeated that phrase, it was only to himself. Spencer's smile had softened, eyelids stopped fluttering, and heavy breathing came to an end. He couldn't help but cry; he seemed so peaceful, and the only time he'd ever looked like that was in death.
"Everything's going to be alright."
"Sometimes all you need in life is someone to wrap their arms around you, hold you tight, and tell you that everything's going to be alright."
-Anonymous
Trigger/content warnings: Loss/grief
Spoilers: N/A
Word count: 1232
Summary: The BAU team copes with the loss of one of their own
“The loss of a friend is like that of a limb; time may heal the anguish of the wound, but the loss cannot be repaired”
–Robert Southey
The bullpen, an area which was constantly filled with chatter, was now consumed by a silence so deafening that every turn of a page could be heard. Occasionally, a pair of chocolate eyes glanced up. They were supposed to be met by another pair of eyes, but instead, they locked onto the insipid and lifeless beige wall. Several eyes made the same mistake that day, and the many days following that. The desk that they drifted past had began to collect dust, something that the previous owner would've never allowed.
There should be an agent there, but there wasn't. He couldn't be there.
There should be trainees shadowing the members of the BAU, but there weren't. He couldn't move on.
There should be some life to her outfit, but there wasn't. She couldn't bare to be peppy.
There should be several times in a day where a nickname is heard, but there weren't. He couldn't form the words.
There should be a comforting exchange of words between them, but there wasn't. She couldn't talk to him.
There should be a time everyday where he's impressed yet again, but there wasn't. He couldn't hear him.
There should be gossip or witty retorts being thrown around the room, but there wasn't. She couldn't think of anything else to say.
There should be another case that they're working on, but there isn't. They can't.
There isn't what should always be there.
"This isn't fair," Morgan stated, his gaze shifting from his colleagues desk to Emily. "I keep waiting to be bombarded with some sort of legend or tradition or even a random statistic that popped into his mind. This was his favourite time of year." The only thing she could think to do was nod. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes if she did anything else.
The team, or what's left of it, at least, gathers in Hotch's office. Six people take their seats, all facing one another. Nobody says a word. Everyone's eyes are looking out the window, settling on the vacant desk.
"I remember the first time that I met him," Rossi fondly recalled, breaking the silence between them and turning their attention inwards. "It was Halloween, and he had a fake noose hanging from his neck. It was pretty funny, actually, the way that Spencer scrambled to tug off his mask."
Nobody had said his name since they heard the news. It provoked a different response from each of them: silence, a tear, a sad smile. Everybody lost a man that meant something different to them that day; a son, a brother, or a best friend. It stung like there was no tomorrow, made the earth feel like it had stopped for an eternity.
"You think that was funny?" Prentiss chimed in. "You should've seen the way he scared Morgan when he arrived."
His hand shot up to point at his friend as he protested, "I was startled, not scared. There's a difference."
For the first time in a week, everyone, including Hotch, was smiling. For the first time in three, they were laughing. For the first time since Spencer had ended up in the hospital, everything seemed normal.
"I think he was born a few decades too late," Penelope stated. When she received odd glances from her friends, she clarified, "We all know that Junior G-man would've never touched a single piece of technology if that was possible."
"Do you think he could've lived with the trends of the 80's, though? The hairspray would've killed him." Prentiss's remark spurred chuckles from her friends as they nodded in agreement. He would've never been able to stand all the hair spray.
Before any words even left his mouth, a smile had managed to sneak onto Hotch's lips. Without a doubt, this drew everyone's curiosity. "Well, what is it?" Morgan questioned, which only turned his smile more mischievous.
"Does everyone remember when he got that awful haircut?" JJ nearly spit out the water she'd been sipping on. "He looked like he came straight out of a 'One Direction' poster." His boyband comment hadn't been forgotten by anyone, but oh, this made it so much better.
Garcia beamed for a moment. "It did suit his face, though. If he'd let me re-work his wardrobe like I'd offered to do so many times, then he would've looked fantabulous with it."
JJ quickly swiped her finger across her phone, obviously in search of something. "I remember when.... ah ha!" She passed her phone to Hotch, who was sitting to her left. After a moment of taking in the image, he passed it to Garcia. Reid's smile, even from the photo, was contagious. "When Henry wanted to dress up as his favourite profiler for Halloween. I'll never forget the way Spence absolutely lit up when he walked through the door." She wiped a tear from her eye, which was unlike the many that had been shed in the weeks prior. This one wasn't rooted in sorrow, but grew from joy.
Derek fiddled with his thumbs for a moment as they directed their attention towards him. He knew that what he was about to say would sound beyond weird, but that would be alright. "In the hospital.. I don't think that's the last time I'll see him." Everyone had puzzled looks, but there was no judgment in anyone's eyes. "One of the last things Pretty Boy said to me was '2200'. It took me a while to figure it out, but a few years ago he promised me that in the year 2200, he'd get payback for a prank."
"And you think he'll do that?"
"He's too stubborn not to."
They sat in the office chatting for hours, recalling the best times they'd shared with their friend. Rossi had poured everyone a drink as they gushed about their fondest memories, like singing 'Piano Man' alongside him, or pointing out the smallest tendencies he had, like wearing mix-matched socks or doing a toast with whatever was in his hand rather than a drink. By the time they left, the only light that illuminated the bullpen came from Hotch's office.
There was still so much that they'd need to work through, but they would do it together.
They'd read over the notes they found in a manila envelope while going through his belongings. One would be addressed to each of them, giving everyone something to remember him by.
They'd visit his grave, marked with dates too close together, and leave flowers on holidays and his birthday whenever they could.
They remembered something that Spencer had said regarding the Celtic mythology around All Hallows Eve.
"Tomorrow night, all order is suspended and the barriers between the natural and supernatural are temporarily removed."
They'd leave a small bag of candies by his headstone every Halloween, just in case there was some truth to that.
They'd call his mother every once and a while, just to check up on her.
They'd share a drink in honour of him whenever they solved a case using something that he'd taught them.
They'd quickly make friends with the new agent who took his place.
They'd tell him memories about the agent before him so that he, too, would be able to celebrate his life.
That would all happen one day. But for now, they'd heal together. They'd grieve together. They'd adjust to the new normal together.
“The comfort of having a friend may be taken away, but not that of having had one”
–Seneca
Trigger/content warnings: drug use, loss/grief
Relationships: Spencer Reid + David Rossi (platonic)
Spoilers: Season 2, episode 15: "Revelations", Season 8, episode 12: "Zugzwang"
Word count: 1003
Summary: When the past creeps up on Spencer one night, he doesn't know what to do. Thankfully, he knows who to call.
"A true friend is someone who is there for you when he'd rather be anywhere else"
-Len Wein
"I'm sorry for calling you so late." His words were shaken, and he sounded as if he was out of breath when he'd come to the door. As if he was trying to outrun something. Hell, he was trying to outrun something. The poor, young agent's demons seemed to follow him everywhere, scratching at his ankles and reminding him that he was just out of reach. If he slipped once, they'd quickly devour him.
Tonight he'd tripped. Tonight was just too rough for him. The demons had slithered their way through the cracks in the walls that Spencer so hastily put up, trying to get them to keep their distance. They'd brought his mind to a place he thought he'd left behind, and turned his eyes puffy with unshed tears. Thankfully, Dave was here to help him get back up.
"It's just- I tried to call Hotch, but he didn't pick up, and I didn't know what to do and-" his words sped as he spoke, sounding less apologetic and and more panicked, quickly trying to give him an explanation for why he'd called at 12:03 in the morning.
"Shh, mio figlio," he cut Spencer off, pulling him into a hug as they stood in the dimly lit corridor of his apartment building. "It's okay, you don't need to explain yourself." There was already enough of an explanation. Just through the doorway, he could see the younger agent's coffee table, which was littered with a few small vials and syringes, skewed about as if he'd thrown them aside in his search for something. On top of the couch sat a leather belt, the thickness matching that of a slowly fading mark which wrapped around his friend's arm. After a moment, Rossi pulled back, sliding his hand's to gently hold the forearms of the man before him. "Are you alright?"
That was a question that he wasn't quite sure how to answer. He wasn't high, but he had been about three seconds away from getting there when Rossi had shown up. Tears welled in his eyes, threatening to spill over as he shook his head. His expression was contradicting: a weak and flimsy smile pulled the corners of his lips, and he appeared to be more than present, but a far-away haze still covered his eyes. Moments later, trembling knees nearly collapsed as Spencer fell into his arms, letting a soft sob into his shoulder. "I'm so sorry," he cried, despite Dave's efforts to soothe him, "I'm so sorry."
"Let's get you out of here."
Moments later, Spencer's flat had been locked, tonight's demon with it, and the two men were sitting at a roadside dinner just outside of DC. "Talk to me, kiddo," Rossi prompted, "what happened?"
"E-eight years ago, there was this case in Georgia, I was- hm?" Spencer stopped, seeing that he'd set down his drink and lifted his hand for him to pause.
"I know what happened with Hankel. What happened tonight?"
----------
Spencer's phone vibrated on the table, the buzzing filling the silence of his flat while he read. He didn't need to read the book, really, as he'd already flipped through the same pages about a thousand times and probably would've memorized it even if he didn't have an eidetic memory. The copy of 'The Narrative of John Smith' was set down face-first on the couch as he stood up, stretching while he walked to the table. For a split second, as he glanced at the phone, he had a sliver of hope. Maybe, just maybe, his love would be on the other end.
1-800-984-3672. Scam Likely.
How had he been so foolish, thinking that his late lover would be calling him again? Getting his hopes up for a mere second made him feel so crushed when his dream didn't come true. Maeve was dead. She had been for almost a year now. How could he forget?
Now he wanted to forget.
Spencer tripped over to the closet, tearing his coats out in order to reach the small bag at the back. The contents were dumped onto the coffee table, then rummaged through. A leather belt was quickly fastened around his arm. Plenty of small containers filled with his poison, enough to keep him high for days. Plenty of syringes, used, but not discarded.
----------
"I couldn't find a needle." Their conversation was momentarily paused when the waitress came by with their plates. A stack of chocolate chip flapjacks was placed in front of Spencer and a small omelet in front of Rossi. They both thanked her as she walked away, then waited a moment until she was out of earshot before continuing.
----------
For a split second, the young doctor met his own gaze in the blackened reflection from his TV. He looked pathetic. Completely and utterly pathetic, like a kicked puppy. Was he seriously about to throw away seven years of sobriety- seven years of struggles that he'd overcome- just to forget? He didn't want that.
But the itching in his veins continued, his hand still patted over the table in search of the one thing that he needed. What would happen if he found it? He practically tore himself off of the couch, searching for where he'd left his phone earlier. Shaky fingers typed Hotch's number, drumming against the back of his phone as it rang.
"This is Agent Hotchner, leave your name and number and a detailed message and I'll get back to you as soon as possible."
Damnit.
----------
"And then I called you," he concluded, as both of them knew how it went from there. Reid hadn't even touched his fork, let alone his food, as his fingers were already too preoccupied scratching at his arm. If he continued at that rate, he'd probably scratch to his bone by the time they left the restaurant. He either didn't seem to care, or didn't seem to notice, judging by the already-raised red marks that his nails continued to drag over.
"You've had a rough night. Eat."
"Obstacles in life don't make you a great fighter, but fighting... helps you overcome your obstacles."
-Rose Namajunas
