cherry🍒

Dear Parent/Guardian

This semester our school will be hosting its annual Career Day presentations. We would like to invite you to speak-

“What are you doing?” You startled, your head snapping up as you stared at your husband in the doorway like a deer in headlights. You hadn’t heard him come downstairs.

Holding the paper up in the air, you watched as he almost winced. “How come you didn’t tell me about this?”

Spencer cleared his throat, making his way towards you. He attempted to shrug it off, but you could see the tension in his shoulders. “I just didn’t think it was important.”

“You mean you don’t want to do it?” You tried to meet his gaze as he dropped it, his silence answering for him. “But you love being a professor. I would’ve thought you’d be jumping at the chance to teach people about teaching.”

He was standing across from you now, arms folded as he swallowed nervously, eyes glued to the floor. The lump in his throat choked him, his body beginning to sway subconsciously as he debated just how much he should let you in. You knew this face well- it was the face he gave you before he told you he was worried he was too much for you, and again before he told you he wasn’t sure he’d be a good father. It was the face of insecurity.

“That’s not the job she wants me to talk about.” His voice was small as it left him, cracking around the edges. When he looked up again he landed on the picture of your daughter pinned up on the fridge, gazing up at him behind the camera like he was her entire world. “I just don’t think I can do it.”

“Why not?” You nudged softly, but you knew. Your daughter only knew bits and pieces about Spencer’s life in the FBI, tiny snippets of stories with happy endings and memories with the team- with her aunts and her uncles. But that was it. That was all she knew, and all he ever wanted her to.

“How-” He started, voice breaking off. “How can I stand there and encourage those kids to go down the same path I did?”

“Spence,” you tried to step towards him, but his arms instinctively wrapped around himself like a barrier, “she just admires you. You did a lot of good when you were on the team.”

“Yeah, and saw a lot of things I shouldn’t have.” He snapped, eyes flickering to you apologetically before dropping back down. When he spoke again it came out broken, low and scared. “Things I don’t want her to see because she grew up and decided she wanted to be like me.”

Tension brewed over the kitchen like a storm cloud, the two of you standing within arms length of each other but not reaching out. Your heart ached to see him like this, to see all the fears he thought he’d left behind with his badge rear their ugly heads again, rabid and drooling at the opportunity to send him spiralling once more. Before your daughter was even born he’d considered quitting, worried about the nights away, about playing a passive role in her life at the hands of the job. Even worse, he dreaded the thought of the two of you falling into the hands of danger and meeting a fate he’d seen far too often. You’d tried to reassure him and convince him that would never happen and he believed it, just barely, for a while. But then he was sent to prison.

His anxiety had never quite recovered since. The wounds had definitely begun to heal- thanks to your little girl. He was her best friend in the whole entire world as well as her father. He did everything he could for her, made up for every night he spent across the country with all the bedtime stories and tea parties she could ever dream of. But every time she fell, every time she cried or got hurt you saw it. That little flicker of doubt in his eyes the telltale sign of that little voice in his head telling him this was confirmation that he wasn’t good enough, that he can’t protect her. And it only amplified whenever she called him her hero. He’d been through hell, faced and even experienced death too many times. Yet nothing scared him more than the idea that his perfect little girl would want to follow in his footsteps.

“I was so young when I was recruited by Gideon.” Spencer spoke finally, his whispers barely audible despite the stark silence. “I was directionless. I’d been so focused on caring for my mother I hadn’t given any thought to what I was going to do for myself. I was sold a life I didn’t want and I didn’t realise until it was too late. I can’t in good conscience stand up there and do that to those kids.”

“I know that. I know that Spence, and I wish with everything in me that things could have been different for you. But she doesn’t know that.” You stepped forward, risking taking his hands in yours. “She means well. All she knows is that her daddy saved people.”

“Really?” Spencer recoiled, brows pinching together so tight it looked painful as his hands shot back to his side. “Does she know I almost missed her first birthday because I was in prison? Does she know how many times she could’ve been in danger because of me? How many times I almost didn’t make it home to her at all?”

His mouth opened to speak, but his throat felt glued shut. In an instant he was just a scared little boy grappling to keep things under control. Desperate to take it back, to prove himself right- but nothing came out. Some hero. You watched as he tried to blink back tears, stinging hot and acidic as they pooled in his eyes. A drop escaped despite his efforts, burning a trail down his face before he hastily rubbed it away as fast as it had appeared.

“How can I stand up there and talk about how much of a hero I am when I failed her so many times?”

You pursed your lips, your own eyes threatening to spill as his bottom lip began to tremble. “Stay here for a minute, okay?” You said softly, offering him a gentle kiss on the cheek, right where the tear had stopped, before heading to your bedroom.

After swinging the closet door open, you crouched down and began searching for the worn edges of the box you knew was hidden back there somewhere. You rifled through folded blankets and old sweaters before your fingers finally grazed it, sighing in relief as you dragged it out into the light. You flicked through paper after paper, colourful squiggles and bright paintings shedding glitter into your hands until you found it. It paralysed you for a moment, your eyes locked on the childishly messy handwriting staring back at you before you finally rose to your feet.

When you returned Spencer had collapsed defeated into a chair, his elbows on the table as he cradled his head in his hands. He stirred as he heard your footsteps, an instinct reaction built into him by now. Big wet eyes gazed up at you, fear and insecurity swimming in them, yet they softened at your appearance all the same.

“Found it.” You smiled gently, taking the seat beside him and holding out the card you’d retrieved.

Gingerly he took it, turning it over but not daring to look at your daughter’s message inside. “What’s this for?”

“Do you remember this day?” You pointed to the drawing on the cover.

It was the kind of abstract crayoned piece only a parent could decipher, all wonky lines and uneven proportions- but still the most moving piece he’d seen in a long time. It was him, long limbs and wild hair, holding in his hands a teddy bear. It was white, a polar bear, with a scarf around his neck. Large in Spencer’s doodled hands because that’s how big it appeared in his daughter’s much tinier ones.

“Of course I do.” Despite himself, a wet chuckle escaped him as he thought back. “I drove all the way across town to find that bear after she lost it.”

“Exactly.” You whispered. “She couldn’t stop crying when she realised she’d left him behind. I tried to calm her down and distract her with a different toy, then I said we’d get her a new bear-“

“Rookie mistake.” He winced, shaking his head with a small smile.

“Oh, she started wailing. But then you-“ you poked at his cheek, right where his dimple was beginning to show, “told her you’d go looking for him. You said you weren’t going to come home until you’d searched everywhere. You marked on a map every single place we went that day even if we were only passing through.”

“She was worried sick about him.” Spencer’s shoulders drooped. No matter how long ago it was, the image of his little girl’s tear stained face always hurt him. “She kept saying that he was scared and that he’d think she left him behind on purpose. I had to at least try to find him.”

“And you did.” You traced the scribbly doodle of the bear on the card, knowing she was likely upstairs playing with him as you spoke. “That’s what she means when she calls you her hero. When she says that you save people.”

Spencer fell quiet. He toyed with the edges of the card, something within him still stopping him from opening it and facing his daughter’s heart poured out on the page in her favourite glittery pink pen. Instead he just stared at himself mapped out in crayon, at the smile drawn onto her teddy bears face and the matching one on his.

“Sure she doesn’t fully understand yet.” You spoke up, angling yourself toward him. “She doesn’t know how ugly it was, or how much you got hurt. She doesn’t know how rocky things really were sometimes. But she knows that you went out there and brought her bear home and that you’d do it again in a heartbeat. On some level she knows that that’s what you did at work- you brought families back together.”

“I didn’t always.” He said, voice hollow. “She doesn’t know that.”

“Spence,” you cupped his face in your hand, gently turning him to face you properly, “I know you’re spiralling imagining her growing up and joining the bureau or doing something crazy like that because of you- but that’s not what she wants.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but you cut him off.

“What she wants is to be smart and kind like you, she wants to be the kind of person who makes a difference in people’s lives and does good in the world.” Tucking a stray curl behind his ear, you pressed a kiss to his forehead, smoothing out the crease between his brows. “And she thinks you’re cool and just wants to show you off to her friends.”

He huffed a tiny laugh, but he didn’t smile. “I still don’t think I can do it. So she won’t want to grow up and do what I did, but what if some other poor kid does? I can’t be responsible for that.”

You hummed, letting go of his face and letting his gaze drift back down to the unopened card in his hands. “I think you should talk to her. I think deep down she doesn’t care if you talk about the FBI or about teaching or about some part time job you had when you were sixteen. She just wants everyone to know how much she admires you.”

With a deep breath Spencer let the card fall open, tears springing to his eyes once more. She was always an articulate kid, it comes with the territory of being Spencer Reid’s daughter, and like him she wore her heart on her sleeve when it came to the people she loved. The words blurred on the page as he wiped tears away thinking of the little girl upstairs playing without a care in the world, totally oblivious to the power she had over him.

“I admire her too.” He whispered. The card closed, the teddy bear’s scribbled eyes staring up at him again. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Good.” You smiled, playfully bumping your shoulder against his as you felt him finally relax. “You don’t need to prove how much of a hero you are to those kids. You just need to be her hero.”

Spencer looked up at the picture of her on the fridge, her eyes bright and sparkling as she grinned at him, her cheeks rosy and warm in the sunlight spotlighting her. “I can do that.”

back at the police department, when the team gathered around the makeshift conference room with no AC, he swore he could feel his braincells decompose. there was no way he was making it to the end of the day in that lifesize oven.

this is why he practially jumped up when hotch sent him on the hunt for a particular book. some obscure science fiction novel he must've mumbled about in a heat caused haze.

at least he got to be outside.

the first bookstore he saw was the one that caught his eye.

a few blocks near the park, between a coffee shop and a vintage store, was a ridiculously old building that looked straight out of an animated movie. the bricks were cream colored, hidden behind leaves of ivy and numerous flower pots that were somehow surviving the heatwave.

he was glad to have a reason to go in.

usually, he drove past bookstores and libraries he dreamed to visit in the black sedan, and could only promise himself he'd go once the case was over, which almost never happened.

the little bell above the wooden door made a clear noise when he pushed it open, stepping into the cozy atmoshpere. the first thing that hit him was the freshness of the air - slightly smelling of the distinct scent of books he loves so much, and a hint of something sweeter.

lavender, maybe. he too, a look around.

it wasn't too vast of a space, but the aisles weren't narrow either. rather welcoming, inviting, books on the shelves stacked just right in a way that scratched his neurodivergent brain.

naturally, he felt compelled to profile the person who owned the place.

his eyes roamed over the titles of the books as he took a couple of steps further. the titles were highlighted by the giant windows, that bathed the store in sunlight. yet, the temperature was more than delightful.

"looking for anything in particular ?"

someone said right behing him.

it took him a moment to realize the saccharine words were destined to him. he was the only one to be book shopping of all things, on this blazing day.

"i'm just looking around, thank y-" he turned to face her and gesture the shelf in front of him - the book he was searching for on full display - but froze.

she was beautiful, the girl standing before him.

suddenly, the outside heat felt like nothing compred to the one spreading on his cheeks, shades of pink matching those of her flowy sundress. it almost reached the floor, cascading down your hips where the fabric hugged her skin.

staring, he was staring. get a grip, reid.

"yes, actually." the lie came out smoother than intended. good, a semblance of dignity in front of such an ethereal presence was all he hoped for. "is that... the fiction aisle ?"

"yes, all the way to that shelf over there" she pointed to the opposite side, her smile rather amused than anything.

real smart, genius.

for someone who was searching for a book, he didn't make it sound like he even knew how to read. the sign just above his head listed the different sections of the bookstore, how pathetic.

she added kindly, her hand smoothing the fabric of the dress - the dress of the undoing. "but we also have a vast selection of non-fiction books over there, and a little cafe area"

"o-okay."

"if you need something fresh to cool down, or..." she shrugged, and it was the cutest thing he'd ever seen. kindness radiated out of her so easily, he wanted to say yes desperately.

or at least to say something, anything.

but on top of forgetting how to read, he'd also seemed to have lost his speaking abilities.

so he did what perhaps was the most insensitive thing to do and grabbed the book from the shelf, muttering something along the lines of a poorly enunciated thank you before heading to the checkout.

sliding behind the counter, their fingers brushed when she took it from him gently, giving him the change in return.

"you'll like it," she spoke, carefully placing it in a brown paper bag. "it's not my favorite genre, but the plot unfolds pretty nicely."

he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly and manages to say.

"not mine either, really. it's for scientific purposes, but i usually stick to classics or true crime novels"

"me too !!" she says enthusiastically.

as he took the bag from her, it appeared to him that small talk might be the closest thing he'd ever get from her, and suddenly regreted the way he dismissed her out of nervousness.

"this place is nice,"

she looks up, smiling at the compliment. not bad, he thinks, does he sound too eager ?

"thanks you, i’ve been working here for a while... not alone, usually, but it’s hard to attract people with that heat”

“not for you,” he answers, instantly biting his lip.

“what ?”

attract as in interest, in books. shoot, the haze in his mind was completely unlike anything he’d ever experienced and made him stupid.

“i mean, uh… you’re great. a great salesperson, basically. you’ve got the social cues down”

she let out a genuine chuckle, closing the cash register as the coins clinked.

“don’t you ?”

“no, not really…" he hints at in a bashful tone, slightly shifting positions to lean against the counter in an attempt to appear nonchalant.

the rays of the sun are filtering through the glass, hues of gold spreading around her, reminding him of an angel's halo. bright is the smile she gives him, the magnetic field around her promting him to get closer, closer.

"there's nothing wrong with choosing books over people, trust me" she says as she hands him the bag.

"less disappointing"

he nods, brain too focused on how they almost touched for the second time today. outside, the hot weather is almost nagging him, knowing he'll have to rush back to the police station. spend his day locked in yet another enclosed office, bathing in the discomfort of his own sweat and loneliness.

but he should be getting going.

so, reluctantly, he disappears with an ironic sound of the silver bell as the door closes.

every step he takes is unsure and reluctant, as if his body contemplated betraying him by turning back around. the urge was too strong, similar to the desire he felt to be near you, the scent of sugar and roses you emanated.

except the bell rings not too long later.

you had barely found the time to catch your breath - that had been taken away by the handsome boy on aisle three earlier this morning, the only person in the whole town who’d actually thought it would be smart to come here today of all days - that the sharp sound was heard again, pulling you out of your daydreams.

rays of sunlight hit your eyes, his figure appearing like a mirage in the light.

“you’re back,” you exhaled breathlessly.

quickly, you got up from the shelf you were rearranging. kids picture books, sorted by themes instead of colours.

“i’m back,” he said at the same time.

your brows met halfway, nerves wracking. surely, you couldn’t have spent so much time reading under your breath, nostalgic about your favourite childhood book.

a gasp escaped from your lips.

“you didn’t like the book ? no. it was the wrong one ? what’s wrong ? i forgot the change ?”

shy stranger chuckled again, a sound you couldn’t get enough of. “no, it was the right book and you got everything right.”

“then what ?”

frankly, you could’ve forgotten a dollar or two. it happened often when your preference for literature over maths showed. or when a handsome client with eyes of gold showed up.

“actually… i finished it.”

somehow, he looked bashful.

like it was a truth he hated to admit, disguising the unique parts of him under a joking tone he didn’t quite master. crossing the store to approach you tentatively as if you were in the middle of something, his eyes never left yours.

“the book ?”

“yes, the book.”

stupid question. and incredibly intelligent man, or so it seemed.

his mouth opened once before he spoke, gathering the whirlwind of thoughts as they rushed through his mind.

“twenty thousand words per minute. that’s my usual reading speed,” he explains, like it’s the most natural thing ever.”

“if you minimise factors such as the environment or time of the day. usually, my brain is more active in the early morning.”

you nod along.

“so,” in an attempt to understand, you put your hands on your hips. the little dimple on your right cheek is probably showing, you think. it always does when you’re intrigued.

he almost stares, you notice before he says again.

“so, i was wondering if you had any recommendations. you said classics, right ?”

classics.

jane austen, dostoevsky, maybe some hugo or brontë. the energy he brought felt like a calm breeze, a yearning soul perhaps. looking at his hazel eyes and tall frame felt like discovering a puzzle part you didn't know was missing.

oh, you had plenty of suggestions for him. questions too popped up in your mind as he leaned against the shelf, tilting his head in silent obsrvation.

caramel curls were sticking to his temples, rebelling from the way they'd carefully been pushed back earlier.

he took the silence as an opportunity to ask, round eyes pleaing. "you said something about fresh drinks ?"

the world seemed to stop when you giggled, his inner thermostat skyrocketing.

that's what it was.

it was the expression on your face he wanted to decipher.

your thoughts that he truly wanted to read.

"sure, i'll get you some iced tea" flowing dress creating a delicate movement at every step, you made your way to the coffee station.

"right, i'll just... wait here"

books, fresh air, you. eveerything here seemed perfect, he never wanted to leave, followed you after a couple of seconds as if a magnetic force had pushed him to.

the rest would just have to wait.

౨ৎ if you liked this, try reading you're in my way now

a really awfully good looking guy who had once blushed at your words when you rode the elevator with him and filled the silence by complimenting his thesis.

of course you knew who he was.

if he were to step a foot on in your department, you were pretty sure applause would echo off the walls. this guy had done more fore crime solving using linguistics than your entire team ever had, and his endless knowledge sort of terrified you.

and maybe since then, he'd started to use the east wing elevator abnormally often. and maybe you'd exchanged numbers. for the sole purpose of keeping eachother in the loop during important cases, of course.

and maybe you were tired today because you'd spent all night exchanging texts, and your brain was beginning to turn into mush from the hours of sleep it'd been denied in the previous weeks.

all because of the boy who stood on the other side of the room from you right now, with his arms crossed and brows knit together while he listened to something the unit chief was saying.

"the unsub we're looking for seems to be leaving hidden messages on the crime scenes," agent hotchner explains, not bothered in the least by the number of people hanging onto his every word.

then, he adds.

"the letters have been collected, and as of now they're our primary focus. we believe an in-depth analysis might help us with the profile."

all around the bullpen, the air was charged.

agents taking notes while the team just stood there, shoulders high and gazes unwavering, like a silent affirmation of their superiority.

you wouldn't have appreciated it, the condescendance lingering in the air, aiming to make you and your colleagues feel somewhat impressed.

not if it wasn't for spencer.

the boyish brunette who was leaning against a desk - his desk you presumed, based on the precise alignement of the books displayed - whose eyes on you could be felt from miles away.

prentiss spoke up next, arms crossed in authority.

"with this guy, danger is imminent. he's escalating, and that's why we called the IB. we need more experts on the case."

something the woman said didn't quite register in your mind, your attention focused on keeping your gaze away from spencer.

a blonde one you recognized as penelope led you to the conference room, and you simply followed like a stray puppy yearning to get his owner back.

no one needed to know.

not as the team gathered around the round table, specifically asking you to join the meeting in hopes of receiving your expertise. in the room of qualified profilers trained to spot miscalculated glances and fleeting touches, with eyes like lasers piercing through the illusion of lies, you had to pull yourself together.

spencer made it a difficult task.

“i was thinking i could quickly go through all the letters the unsub wrote to try to find a pattern. i'd just need access to the archive room to find old files, i've worked through a similar case before.”

quick words, evidently suggested like he’d invented the alphabet himself. you almost smiled when you remembered something he said two days ago, in that exact same nonchalant tone.

“studies prove key elements such as sharp angles, uneven pressure or stilted writing can reveal traits linked to psychopathy." he adds, apparently finding the watch around his wrist more interesting than you, sitting across from him.

hotch asserted himself once more.

"actually, the bureau wanted the input of a real language analyst for this task," he said, sharp jaw nodding in your direction. the focus in the room shifted on you as he said your name.

the smile you gave felt forced, pressured by the half a dozen pair of eyes on you. only one made your heart beat faster for all the wrong reasons, and they belonged to the one who knew you as more than a name on a badge, a piece of chess in the game.

"morgan, you'll help her with the profiling. everyone else, i need you on the field"

morgan ?

the man in question gave you a welcoming grin, and though you were hoping for someone else, you nodded in return. for some reason you swore you heard spencer swallow, adam's apple sticking out, and you felt your a slight pinch of something that almost tasted like disappointment.

you weren't a profiler.

you couldn't have known - and he was grateful for that - that the reason he kept his gaze down and hands to himself came from an irrational part of his brain he didn't know existed.

the one that was jealous.

so he gathered his files and abruptly got up, leaving you with morgan as the rest of the team headed back to work, without even looking back.

turns out the dark skinned man had more to himself than flirtarious smiles. you two worked side by side all morning and he helped you delve into the files.

and before you knew it, you'd managed to keep spencer in the back of your mind for hours.

at lunchtime, while snacking on a granola bar, you caught yourself rambling about the meaning of commas in the unsub's letters. your excitement was contagious.

"gee," derek laughed, cutting you off with a chuckle to remind you he couldn’t keep up.

"you're like a female version of reid or something."

you stopped chewing. looked up, alerted. attempted to wipe away some unwanted crumbs and dreamy grin that had appeared on your lips a little too naturally.

"i'll take that as a compliment."

"trust me, pretty girl" he said, giving you a reassuring wink that might've led you to think he knew more than he let on, "that's a compliment."

the door opened.

he stared. spencer.

files in his hands and mouth opened like he was about to say something but lost all ability to form proper words when he heard the exchange. you felt your hands tighten around the empty plastic wrapper.

morgan’s head turned towards you, then reid.

the tension was painfully obvious, he’d heard the last two sentences and that was already more than enough. a little too interested in the newbie to realise his friend was just being welcoming.

“i was just coming here to say we found a new body with another note displayed on the crime scene,” spencer spoke after what felt like ages. he still didn’t look at you.

“-but i guess you’ll do a great work without it, since you make such a great team.”

morgan whistled, attempting to ease the tension with yet another uneeded comment.

“woah, someone’s jealous.”

with a friendly pat on spencer’s very much tense arm, he left, leaving you and your male copycat in a very awkward situation.

suddenly, the conference room felt smaller.

the space, tight. tighter than the shirt sticking to your skin you suddenly felt trapped in. droplets of sweat clung to the back of your neck and you kept your chin down, eyes piercing through the documents laid out on the table.

he didn’t move, not until he cleared his throat and closed the door behind him. “i didn’t know your intention was to befriend the whole BAU," he snarked.

"i didn't know you had such a problem with me being in your life."

your sharpness made him flinch. daring words, toying with the feeling in his heart he was too much of a coward to properly name. nobody he'd ever met had acted this way towards him. with brutal honesty, confronting him with raw emotions he'd be tempted to conceal.

spencer's eyes were locked onto yours when you spoke. he looked vulnerable in this light, but the anger bubbling beneath his ribs didn't stop him from saying.

"i- that's not what i meant" he stuttered, looking both confused and indignated.

you'd pushed your chair out of the way to get up, almost reaching his height now. there was no escape from this conversation - and you'd very much rehearsed in your mind.

"i think you did,"

of course, in your head, it wouldn't have happened here. out of all places, you never liked to bring your feelings into your work… and now in the conference room was far, fat from the appropriate time.

"i think you're jealous" you affirmed with confidence, crosing your arms to prove your point, "jealous of the fact that i was assigned the task, and that derek had to supervise and not you."

gee, even hearing you call him by his first name made him boil.

"m’not jealous. i have three PhDs”

you laughed. indeed, even with academic degrees up his sleeves, he could still be very oblivious.

“not of the case, idiot.”

he knew what you meant.

and paused. swallowed again.

you bit your lip in waiting, almost facepalming yourself at the honesty of your words - you got that way when you were nervous. and you were really nervous now.

“i don’t think i’ve ever been jealous before.” he said, to himself more than you.

never had he encountered someone to be jealous of. he had the brains, the world seemed to like him. see something even he couldn’t sometimes. he was never jealous of the living because he spent most of his time in a world of his own.

and then he met you.

“there’s a first time for everything” you said with a reassuring smile, much softer now. time for trust, trusting someone and allowing them to see behind the illusion. for love, and letting someone in.

barely blinking, your mesmerising eyes are deeply focused on his now.

“i don’t think i liked it, though.”

“being jealous ?”

he nods, admitting. “you’re smart. and so good at what you do, i swear you made the room light up when you walked in.”

the distance between your bodies fades as he takes another step towards you. he nervously talks with his hands.

“and you could be a profiler !” he lets out, “i’ve never met anyone from another department who has enough talent to hypothetically join a higher rank and willingly refuses to even think about it.”

your lips part, a silent gasp.

“and it just hurts to see you here- here with everyone being so…”

the curious angle of your head makes him smile when you question. “so what ?”

“so perfect !”

it almost pains him to admit it. that the beauty you exude makes him ache, tugging at his sensitive heartstrings more often than he’d like to admit. when the elevator door close, or late at night while staring at his phone in hopes of engraving the pixels or your texts in his brain, he admires the closest to perfection the universe has ever created.

you.

"spencer," you let out in an amused giggle. "i'm not interested in your friends. or your job, for that matter."

he puffs some air into his cheeks, bashful. "i know. my brain just... likes to stop working when you're around, or something."

right, or something. with a playful nudge of the arm, you add.

"i am interested in you, though"

his eyes widen, pupils dilating. the little amount of oxygen left in the room is enough to make him slightly choke, which he covers by his hand. germ thing, sure.

"in me ?"

"yeah." someone has to say it, and you will if it means putting an end to the wrenching state of not knowing what you are. "-if you are, that is. unless i completely misunderstood the situation and you're actually jealous of my linguistics diploma-"

he calls your name, almost offended "i speak four languages !"

"i speak five. not that we're counting"

no bother mentionning you're also learning two. he's overwhelmingly close to you, and the smell of his cologne makes you melt little by little.

he utters quietly. "see ? perfect."

there's not exactly much he could do to make this conversation better. like, better than any debate you had over the phone, and yet he adds.

"i really am interested. and i'd like to see you sometimes... outside of work"

"and the elevator"

he laughs. a genuine sound you could get drunk on, and with a rush of adrenaline, reaches forwards to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"just us. on a date. no work and no elevators involved, i promise"

jealousy looked good on him, earlier when he came in with clenched fists and a dark gaze. but nothing, no other expression could match the one he was wearing on his face. pools of hazel softened around the edges, spencer looked truly enamored.

and that ? that looked even better.

“Don’t say that.” He pouted, his hand drifting to your knee and giving it a gentle squeeze. “You went and did something you were afraid of- that falls under the literal definition of the word brave.”

You scoffed but leaned into him all the same, delighting when his arm moved from your knee to drape around your shoulder as he pulled you in closer. “I don’t think the people making the dictionary were thinking about someone being a baby at their doctor’s office when they wrote that one.”

He’d been a true gentleman the entire time, holding your hand in the waiting room and steadying your knee when it just wouldn’t stop bouncing. He’d leaned in close to you, his voice low and gentle as he rambled to you about anything and everything. He knew you weren’t taking any of it in, not really, but it stopped the heaving of your chest and that was enough for him. When you were sat before the doctor he rolled your sleeve up for you, rubbing the goosebumps on your skin while your dose was prepared. When the needle broke your skin and you gasped, he took your free hand, letting you squeeze until his skin was red and still he never complained.

You’d felt somewhat embarrassed. This was the man who’d survived being shot, survived an explosion- survived being poisoned, and now here he was kissing your temple and whispering in your ear while the doctor applied possibly the world’s smallest bandage to possibly the world’s smallest wound on your arm. You might as well have been given a sticker and a lollipop when they sent you on your way.

“You’re not being a baby.” Spencer said as if reading your mind. “Trypanophobia is one of the most common phobias in the world. It affects at least one in ten adults worldwide- it’s completely normal.”

“Is that what you told your boss when you called off work this morning?” You asked, cringing at the thought of him explaining this to Hotch. “That you couldn’t fight crime today because you had to babysit me at the doctor’s?”

“I told him,” Spencer started, pulling your legs into his lap and pulling a giggle out of you in response, “that I couldn’t come and do paperwork today because you had an important medical appointment and needed someone to make sure you were okay. And he was very understanding provided I make up the time.”

Shifting slightly, you made sure he could see your eyes roll as you spoke. “That’s borderline lying. It was not that important and it’s not like I’m dying.”

“It was a slight exaggeration.” He nodded slowly, considering your point. “But it’s not uncommon to experience side effects afterwards- headaches, nausea, fevers. And with the anxiety you’ve been feeling all morning I’d imagine you’re feeling pretty sick right now.”

“I think I’ll live.” You shrugged, trying to hide the fact you had actually been sneaking some deep breaths in since you got home.

“Maybe.” He shrugged back. “But how are you feeling right now?”

He got you. The fight drained from your body, the bravado falling from your face as you felt it melt into a pout. The cooing tone of his voice had worked its magic, making your tense body fall limp against him as he held you closer. Your voice was quieter when it left you, a little sadder, a little more tired. “Pretty sick.”

“Exactly.” Spencer spoke impossibly soft, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “And if I wasn’t here who would make you soup and tell you you’re so brave?”

You hummed thoughtfully into his shoulder as your head fell to rest on it. “I think I could probably handle the soup part myself.”

His brows pinched like the concept personally offended him, a frown tugging his pretty lips downwards in protest. “But why should you have to?”

A laugh escaped you, your shoulders shaking under his hand which squeezed at you affectionately, careful to avoid the sore ache in your arm. You could tell from the way he rested his cheek against your head that you were going to be pampered for the rest of the day, that he was going to hone in on your every minor symptom as an excuse to tell you to sit back and not lift a finger.

“This seems a little dramatic, still.” You smiled up at him. “At worst I’m probably just going to feel a little queasy for an hour. I really don’t need you fussing over me.”

“Maybe so,” he hummed, turning his head to press a kiss to the top of yours. “But technically, I am a doctor so…”

“Don’t say that.” He pouted, his hand drifting to your knee and giving it a gentle squeeze. “You went and did something you were afraid of- that falls under the literal definition of the word brave.”

You scoffed but leaned into him all the same, delighting when his arm moved from your knee to drape around your shoulder as he pulled you in closer. “I don’t think the people making the dictionary were thinking about someone being a baby at their doctor’s office when they wrote that one.”

He’d been a true gentleman the entire time, holding your hand in the waiting room and steadying your knee when it just wouldn’t stop bouncing. He’d leaned in close to you, his voice low and gentle as he rambled to you about anything and everything. He knew you weren’t taking any of it in, not really, but it stopped the heaving of your chest and that was enough for him. When you were sat before the doctor he rolled your sleeve up for you, rubbing the goosebumps on your skin while your dose was prepared. When the needle broke your skin and you gasped, he took your free hand, letting you squeeze until his skin was red and still he never complained.

You’d felt somewhat embarrassed. This was the man who’d survived being shot, survived an explosion- survived being poisoned, and now here he was kissing your temple and whispering in your ear while the doctor applied possibly the world’s smallest bandage to possibly the world’s smallest wound on your arm. You might as well have been given a sticker and a lollipop when they sent you on your way.

“You’re not being a baby.” Spencer said as if reading your mind. “Trypanophobia is one of the most common phobias in the world. It affects at least one in ten adults worldwide- it’s completely normal.”

“Is that what you told your boss when you called off work this morning?” You asked, cringing at the thought of him explaining this to Hotch. “That you couldn’t fight crime today because you had to babysit me at the doctor’s?”

“I told him,” Spencer started, pulling your legs into his lap and pulling a giggle out of you in response, “that I couldn’t come and do paperwork today because you had an important medical appointment and needed someone to make sure you were okay. And he was very understanding provided I make up the time.”

Shifting slightly, you made sure he could see your eyes roll as you spoke. “That’s borderline lying. It was not that important and it’s not like I’m dying.”

“It was a slight exaggeration.” He nodded slowly, considering your point. “But it’s not uncommon to experience side effects afterwards- headaches, nausea, fevers. And with the anxiety you’ve been feeling all morning I’d imagine you’re feeling pretty sick right now.”

“I think I’ll live.” You shrugged, trying to hide the fact you had actually been sneaking some deep breaths in since you got home.

“Maybe.” He shrugged back. “But how are you feeling right now?”

He got you. The fight drained from your body, the bravado falling from your face as you felt it melt into a pout. The cooing tone of his voice had worked its magic, making your tense body fall limp against him as he held you closer. Your voice was quieter when it left you, a little sadder, a little more tired. “Pretty sick.”

“Exactly.” Spencer spoke impossibly soft, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “And if I wasn’t here who would make you soup and tell you you’re so brave?”

You hummed thoughtfully into his shoulder as your head fell to rest on it. “I think I could probably handle the soup part myself.”

His brows pinched like the concept personally offended him, a frown tugging his pretty lips downwards in protest. “But why should you have to?”

A laugh escaped you, your shoulders shaking under his hand which squeezed at you affectionately, careful to avoid the sore ache in your arm. You could tell from the way he rested his cheek against your head that you were going to be pampered for the rest of the day, that he was going to hone in on your every minor symptom as an excuse to tell you to sit back and not lift a finger.

“This seems a little dramatic, still.” You smiled up at him. “At worst I’m probably just going to feel a little queasy for an hour. I really don’t need you fussing over me.”

“Maybe so,” he hummed, turning his head to press a kiss to the top of yours. “But technically, I am a doctor so…”

“Spence,” you whispered, gently shaking his shoulder as the boa dropped a couple more feathers onto the sofa, “honey, wake up.”

He grumbled lowly, rubbing his eyes with a polished hand as he shifted. When he pulled his hand away there was a mascara smudge on his fingertips. Slowly, he blinked awake, taking in the wide beam you shone at him as you noticed the dabs of pink blusher on his cheeks.

“Well good morning, princess.” You grinned, reaching up and trying to straighten his tiara as best as you could while he was still lying down.

“Wait, what time is it?” He mumbled. When he lifted his head there was a piece of plastic fruit beneath it.

“It’s only eight pm, don’t worry.” You said, and he sighed in relief. Your daughter must have thrown a serious party if he genuinely believed he slept through the night.

Spencer pushed himself up, groaning with the effort as he sat up. Without needing an invitation you pulled yourself up too, settling into the cushions beside him as a lazy arm draped over your shoulders. His warmth seeped into you, melting away the bitter iciness of your commute home and you couldn’t help but notice that he smelt like your daughter’s favourite fruity perfume.

“It looks like she threw one hell of a party.” You mused, gesturing to a stuffed animal toppled over on his side, passed out like your husband was just moments ago.

“Tell me about it.” He chuckled. “I’m sorry, I meant to have this cleaned up by the time you got home.”

“Don’t be silly. Im just jealous I missed this.” You fiddled with the end of his boa, twirling feathers around your fingertip. “Looks like she gave you a makeover too, huh?”

“Actually, this was the dress code to get in.” He huffed a light laugh. Specifically, she had told him that his regular outfit was too boring- apparently button ups and cardigans aren’t exactly glamorous princess attire.

“Oh, really?” You could totally picture her, her brows furrowed in a way she’d inherited from him and a matching pout as she scrutinised his work clothes that in all fairness probably do seem rather drab to a princess-loving six year old. “Sounds strict.”

“Oh, she has very high standards.” Spencer nodded, holding up a teddy bear she’d abandoned on the arm of the sofa. “This little guy was denied entry entirely.”

“Well you look very beautiful, I have to say.” You shifted slightly so that you were angled towards him, finding those big sleepy eyes of his already gazing down at you. He really did look beautiful. He always did- but something about him now, sitting happily without a protest on his mind about the tiara on his head or the perfume on his clothes, made him absolutely radiant. You were too used to him coming home ragged and tired, dark circles under his eyes and pain within them. How lucky you were to be able to see him like this too.

“You think so?” He blushed beneath the pink already painted on his cheeks, dropping his gaze down shyly as if he were a teenage boy talking to his first crush.

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. It was warm. “The most beautiful royalty I’ve ever seen.”

Spencer laughed and reached up, taking the tiara from his hair and gently settling it in yours, fiddling with it a little until it was perfect. “Then you’ve clearly not seen yourself. Or our little Sleeping Beauty upstairs.”

You smiled at the mention of her, imagining her equally as worn out and covered in glitter no matter how thoroughly Spencer had probably tried to clean her up. She was likely tucked up in her bed the same way he had been on the sofa, cheeks squashed against her pink pillowcases and her starry nightlight casting constellations against the walls. Sleeping Beauty, indeed.

“She gets it from you.” You said softly, pulling yourself from his hold before he could protest as he pouted at your sudden absence. Before he could sulk too much you stood up, holding your hand out to him which he gratefully took immediately. “Come on. Let’s get you something real to eat.”

“I’ve had plenty of fresh plastic cake, actually.” He hummed happily, his hand staying glued to yours as he trailed after you into the kitchen. “She’s a wonderful pretend cook. I think she’s got a real future in the princess tea party business.”

“I bet.” You turned to face him as you came to a stop at the fridge, the grin on his face identically matching a photo of your little girl pinned up beside him with a heart shaped magnet. His face was positively alight with joy. “You know you’re going to be her guest of honour every single time, right?”

Spencer nodded, feathers continuing to float to the ground from the boa still around his neck. “I’m counting on it.”