Imagine Forever Love

Given that Morgan le Faye was one of the most powerful witches, a dark one at that, and a part of Authur's court it made the most sense for such caution but the more you looked at the code the more confusing it got. Once you were at Hogwarts you'd have access to all your code and cipher books again but until then you had to work with what you remember. The first thing about any code was to check for repeating words which you found quickly when Draco first presented the tome and journals to you.

Now all you had to do was figure out which words were part of the code and which were filler, you sighed as you looked over the passage you had copied. What words truly didn’t belong and which were the true code yet to be deciphered? As you sat there confused at your notes you didn’t hear the soft footsteps on the tile making their way towards you.

“We aren’t even on the train yet and you are already studying without me,” Hermione dressed in her normal casual clothes said as she set Crookshanks down to play with Lyra before sitting down next to you.

“Studying without you, never” closing your notebook before turning to look at Hermione, “Just a little puzzle Draco gave me to keep my mind extra sharp to beat you at the History of Magic, again,” you said as you hugged your her.

“I doubt Malfoy can help you beat me at anything, but I’ll take your word for it. Since you two are totally not into each other or anything of the sort,” she said as she looked down at the pen Draco got you for last Christmas.

“Hey now look who’s talking. You spent most of the summer at the Weasley’s and all you did other than fight with Ron was think about him,” you said crossing your arms as your cheeks turned red.

“Well he’s just being difficult and an oaf,” Hermione said as she looked down at the floor while blushing “Besides its not like we don’t hang out a lot we are practically glued to each other once Harry is around.” Saying as she looks up at you as another friend starts approaching from behind you as Hermione scowls at them.

“Well I think the three of you need to-AHH” you were cut off as someone tickled your sides from behind as you elbowed them in the stomach hearing them groan.

Hermione couldn’t help but chuckle as she saw Draco Malfoy dressed in an all-black suit hunched over holding his stomach as a ‘punishment’ for sneaking up and tickling you.

“Not funny Granger,” Draco said as he looked at the Gryffindor annoyed before he then Y/n turned around and looked at him, “Merlin’s sake Y/n that hurt.”

“Haven't I told you not to sneak up on me Draco,” you said jokingly as you got up and helped him sit down next to you. “Don’t you remember what happened last time someone did that?”

“I remember. I remember.” He said as he sat down on the small bench with you and Hermione as he leaned his head back groaning in pain.

“Says the one who didn’t learn from it and did it anyway,” Hermione said as she rolled her eyes. It was no secret that Hermione didn’t much care for Draco but in recent years he had become tolerable since she saw firsthand how different he was with you around.

“Last I remember I didn’t scare her, it was that Weasbee and Pottah,” Draco said as he looked over at Hermione with an amused expression, “I remember that I was working with Y/n in potions like always and Weasbee thought it would be a grand idea to try and take her wand while she was adding to the potion but he bumped her and then the potion blew up.” He said chuckling lightly before groaning again as his stomach still hurt.

“Ron bumped into her because Goyle and Crabbe behave like toddlers, you insufferable blonde ferret,” Hermione argued as you rolled your eyes at your two friends fighting like siblings.

"Hey now Harry dared Ron to do it," you tried to say before Hermione took out her frustration on Draco.

“Ferret? Why am I a ferret?” He said while sitting up and looking at both Hermione and Y/n as she shrugged her shoulders just as confused as he was.

"Because you are a spoiled, privileged, know-it-all trickster who up until two years ago was a bully toward me and so many other students," Hermione said as she looked at the blonde shooting daggers.

"And I've apologized for it," Draco said slightly pissed off as he looked from you to Hermione "I know I wasn't exactly the best these past couple of years," Draco said calmly as he looked over at Hermione before looking at you sadly as he knew that you hated the fighting. "I'm trying my best to make up for what I've done."

"I understand that Malfoy, but just because you are taking the right steps doesn't mean everyone will be quick to forgive you," Hermione said calmly while gathering her stuff and cat, "I'll see you later Y/n," she said before walking towards the Weasleys and Harry who just showed up.

"You have to admit Draco," you turn and look at him, "She is right. You kinda did put most of Gryffindor through hell until last year."

"I know I know," he says while looking down at the train station floor. "Thankfully you talked some sense into me before I got worse." He said shifting a bit in his seat remembering how angry you were after the Buckbeck incident. "Though I still don't understand how you tolerate Granger when she gets like that," Draco said as he sat up and looked over at the mostly ginger group as they chatted.

"Because despite how much you two hate each other my life wouldn't be complete without my two amazing and smart best friends," you said smiling at the blonde boy.

"When you put it that way it seems as though your friendship with both of them makes you feel whole, like how mooncalves without the moon hide away during the day. They would be lonely without the light of the moon every night,” said the soft angelic voice of Luna Lovegood as she knelt down to play with Lyra as both Draco and you looked at her dumbfounded.

“Luna you scare me sometimes with how accurate you are,” Y/n said as you smiled at your whimsical friend.

"And how you randomly appear," Draco said under his breath as you nudged him slightly, "I'm just saying."

"You two remind me of these Kneazles I raised over the summer," Luna started as she picked up your cat, "Both searching for some new adventure but coming back together when it gets too hard to go alone," she said mysteriously as she handed Draco the cat before leaving to get her stuff as the Hogwarts Express that just pulled into the station.

"We remind her of what?" Draco turned to you confused as Lyra played with his black tie.

"Apparently cats. But it was maybe, sweet? I don't know anymore" You said smiling a bit as you stood up and began to gather your things. "Come on now ferret boy we got a train to board." turning to him as you loaded up your trolly.

Draco groaned as he stood up and walked with you pushing his trolly as your cat jumped from his shoulder onto your trolly. "Really? I'm not a ferret," he said as he looked down slightly annoyed at the new nickname you made.

"Oh, come on Darco ferrets are smart and brilliant animals. Plus they are some of the cutest mammals out there," you said trying to ignore the blush forming as you nudge him while walking.

Draco blushed slightly as he looked up and smiled at you. "Ferrets are smart and brilliant you say?" he said as he walked with you.

"Indeed my dear Dragon, Hermione may have meant it as an insult but it does suit you," smiling as you parked your trolly by the luggage attendant and put Lyra in her carrier next to Hawthorn.

"Gotta catch up with a few friends," you said as you hugged Draco. "I'll see you and those journals, in a bit okay?"

"Yeah I'll see you soon Y/n," he said as he held you close not knowing that a few friends were watching from inside the train.

Draco POV

After Y/n walked away towards the booth that Hermione was most likely in. Draco just stood there for a minute before going to the booth his friends were in.

"What was that all about?" said Pansy as she was standing arms crossed just inside the hallway of the train.

"Excuse me?" he said confused about what Pansy meant as he tried to walk past her to their normal booth.

"That hug with Y/n. Please tell me you two finally started dating." Pansy said as she continued to block his path while smirking at him.

"No Pansy we didn't," he rolled his eyes, "Now please move I'd like to sit down." Getting more frustrated by the second.

"Well that's a shame, I like how she makes you less grumpy," she said as she stepped out of his way. "And she clearly has-” Before she could continue she was cut off by her boyfriend Blaise Zabini.

“Pansy, let him sit down and relax before you start gossiping, please darling,” Blaise said as Draco finally found his best mate in their normal booth.

“Fine I'll let the 'ferret boy' relax," smirking as she sat down next to Blaise as Draco sighed while sitting down across from the couple.

"You heard that?" Draco questioned as he wasn't angry but more embarrassed than anything else.

"Oh please Dray, I hear everything," Pansy smirked as the train car began to fill up with students from Ravenclaw and Slytherin.

"That's what scares me," said Draco under his breath as he looked out the window and saw all the parents waving at their children from the platform.

Blaise chuckled as he was the only one who heard Draco since Pansy was too busy watching people get onto the train car and carefully eavesdropping on each conversation. Draco's thoughts went to the journals and tome he had you look at. The books were safe in the black messenger bag you got him for Christmas since he put a small protection charm on it just in case someone wanted to take it.

Draco hadn’t been paying much attention to the conversation his friends were having until he felt someone sit down next to him. He turned his head slightly and saw Theo Nott had sat down next to him.

“I see that Draco is his normal quiet self. Nothing interesting happened this summer?” Theo asked as he looked over at his friends.

"Well I can tell you one thing that didn't happen this summer," Pansy said smugly while looking at Draco.

"Oooh, do tell Pansy. I'm all ears about what the 'Prince of Slytherin' wasn't able to achieve," Theo jokingly said as he leaned back looking at Pansy.

"Well our dear prince still hasn't confessed his undying love towards his dear childhood friend Y/n this summer," she said dramatically as Blaise rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"He didn't," Theo said pretending to be shocked as he turned toward Draco. "Come on mate it's been a good while now since you've started 'fixing' up your attitude and building up the courage to tell her how you feel, so why haven't you?" he said teasing Draco's new behavior.

"It's complicated," Draco said coldly as he looked at his friends while loosening his tie.

"Bloody Hell Draco, no it isn't," Theo said while throwing his hands up, "You fancy her, ask her out on a date."

"You are ridiculous," Draco said as he stood up, "Move Nott," almost growling as he looked at Theo.

"Fine be in denial," Theo said as he stood up and moved out of the way. "But just know if you don't make a move, someone else will."

Before anyone else could say anything to Draco he was already out of the train car. On his way, he grabbed the bag with the journals and the tome checking to see if anyone tampered with it. Once he was sure nobody messed with it, he continued to where Y/n would meet him.

Normal POV

You'd been staring out the window waiting for Draco to come with the journals for only a few minutes thinking about all the secrets Merlin kept in his journals. To think after all this time, that one of the greatest wizards of all time's journals were at your disposal, let alone with your best friend. You were too lost in thought to hear the compartment door open and close before someone sat down next to you.

"What are you thinking about?" Draco said as he took out the journals and tome before standing up and closing the compartment blinds carefully.

"Nothing that you don't already know," you said happily as you opened the first journal. "How was the Slytherin gang? Pansy still the school gossip?" you questioned as you took out your notebook and pen.

"Still the school gossip it seems," he said as he took off his suit jacket and loosened his tie before sitting back down next to you, "Blaise is his normal quiet self. Pansy hasn't changed him yet, thankfully," smiling as he watched you began to write some notes.

"I highly doubt that Pansy can change him unless he wanted to though I believe his attitude about blood status has improved since I started helping you understand," looking up from the tome to look Draco in the eyes for a moment before copying down more notes. "Even if it was hard at first."

Draco smiled as he listened to you talk about his friend and how much progress he made since that first day you started 'whipping him into shape'. He'd never admit to anyone except you, his mother, and Blaise how much of an ass he really was two years ago. Theo had made fun of him after he once saw you and Draco practicing with Luna and Neville practicing charms by the Black Lake. Theo complained about how he was hanging out with Looney Lovegood and Loasy Longbottom, for some reason this made Draco mad when he talked about your friends but he didn't understand why.

"Hard yes, but it's easier thanks to you and your endless amount of patience," he said as he looked over at what you were copying down, "Are those star maps?" confused about how you got to star maps.

"I decoded a few of the first lines and they were talking about how 'Casseopia greets the Lion and the Dragon on a cool evening. Once greeted the confusione shall disappear from thy parchment' so I drew up a rough star map to see how the stars would be positioned during the coming months," you said as you explained happily what you found.

"So when do Cassiopeia, Leo, and Draco greet each other in the night sky?" he said awkwardly unsure if this was a big clue or not.

"it seems so but I'll check the star maps in the library to be sure. So how does it feel that your namesake is a part of this riddle my dear dragon?" teasing him a bit as you nudged him playfully.

"Confused yet important," he said as he sat up giving you his smug smirk. "And if it wasn't for me snooping around my family library we wouldn't be on whatever adventure this is." nudging you back as he normally would though it felt a little different.

"Well as much as that is true, you'd be lost without me Draco," smiling as you stood up, "probably best to get changed into my robes before I get lost in the journals"

"I'll stay here till you get back Y/n," smiling as he watched you open the compartment door and close it behind you. He looked over your notes while you were gone trying desperately to read your handwriting when he thought he saw the slightest hint of a heart next to his name.

Y/n POV

Summer had come and gone all too soon but just as summer came to an end, a new school year filled with excitement was about to begin you thought as you slowly sat up in your bed. This would be the start of your fifth year at Hogwarts and you were beyond excited to see your friends again. Though you lived not too far from some of them, that didn't mean you didn't miss seeing them every day.

As you got out of bed a familiar owl tapped on your bedroom window. Making your way over to the window you let the eagle owl in as he drops a letter for you. Smiling you pick up the letter and give the eagle owl a snack before it flies off.

The envelope is black with a green wax seal with the Malfoy family crest pressed into the wax, Draco. He was your friend and neighbor since you were small but despite 'the prince' of Slytherin's' tough and arrogant persona he was still that kind-hearted kid you used to play with all those years ago. You opened the letter and began to read it.

The letter reads:

Y/n,

Meet me in my mother's garden as soon as you can, I found something in the library that might be worth looking into regarding your favorite subject. I know that clever mind of yours can't say no to a puzzle like the one I've found. See you soon Pegasus.

~Your favorite troublemaker

Draco

PS. I know you'll meet Granger at Platform 9¾ tomorrow but please don't tell that know it all about this. Don't want her telling Potter and Weasbee.

You sighed as Draco was indeed your favorite troublemaker despite his attitude towards some of your friends, especially Hermione Granger. You thought back to your first adventures with Draco as you got ready for the day. You met each other around the age of five when you moved from London to Wiltshire after your grandmother passed. Your parents’ inherited the family mansion, the house seemed gigantic as a child when you first moved in but once you met Draco the house turned into a stage for great adventures.

You smiled at the memory of meeting Draco the first time, it was one day late spring after you finally finished moving into the mansion. Mr. And Mrs. Malfoy came over and introduced themselves while Draco held onto his mother’s hand tightly till he saw you. Both your parents smiled as you invited Draco to come play while your parents talked about things going on within the Ministry of Magic.

Things were simpler back then as little kids. You'd both spend most of your summers exploring each other's mansions, reading in the libraries what you could, and having your 'Adventures' in the gardens. You smiled at the memories as you started to get ready. You put on a pair of dark grey shorts, a black tank top, and a denim jacket with your black ankle boots. You looked at yourself in the mirror and smiled to yourself as you put on some light makeup and French braided your h/c hair. Taking a deep breath as you stand up from your vanity and grab your messenger bag putting it on your shoulder. Making your way downstairs you grabbed two green apples from the kitchen island and made your way towards Malfoy Manor.

Draco's POV

It was a little over a half hour since Draco sent Y/n that letter. She would come over to see what he had found, she always did when it could be a new adventure for them. But this time something felt different about this one. He was pacing in the kitchen as one of the house elves prepared breakfast for Draco and Narcissa.

"Draco darling, please sit and eat. You're gonna make the floor warp from all your pacing" Narcissa said as she watched her son pace anxiously.

"Sorry, Mum. It's just that Y/n is coming over soon and I have to tell her about a puzzle I found." Draco said quietly as he sat down across from his mother at the kitchen table. His mother smiled at him as one of the house elves put breakfast on the table.

"Y/n is an extraordinary girl," Narcissa said as she started eating breakfast, "And a pretty one too," she said while smiling at her son.

"Yeah she is," Draco said as a blush formed on his cheeks before he realized what he said, "I mean she is pretty but she's just a friend mum," he said trying to change the subject.

"Right, a friend who is a girl who is closer to you than that one girl you briefly dated last year. What was her name again? Patrica? Piper? Prudence?" Narcissa said teasing her son about his developing feelings for Y/n.

"Pansy mum. She started dating Blaise this summer," He said as he groaned thinking about his short relationship with Pansy that turned out to be nothing other than friends. He was happy for his friends' relationship but he wondered if his friendship with Y/n was just a friendship.

"Ah yes, Pansy. She and Blaise will make a cute couple," she says looking at how her son reacted to her teasing, "Now what is this puzzle you want to show Y/n?", she said after taking a sip of her tea and looking at her son who had barely touched his food.

"Well you know how Y/n is practically obsessed with Merlin and Morgan le Fay's history," Draco said as he looked out the kitchen window smiling as he continued, "I may have found something referencing Merlin but it's in a code," he said as he saw Y/n slowly making her way to the manor.

"Another one of your little quests," Narcissa said referring to how the two would make up 'quests' when they were younger as she looked out the window she saw Y/n opening the back gate. "Well, I'll let you two start your new adventure," she said as she got up and took their plates to the sink.

Y/n POV

Walking up to the gate of Malfoy Manor you felt a bit of excitement as you slowly opened the large gate. You saw Draco in the kitchen window talking with his mother as you slowly made your way through the huge backyard. You always liked Draco's mother Narcissa, she always made you feel welcome whenever you and Draco hung out despite Lucius not wanting you around much since you called him out on his pureblood bullshit.

"Ah Ms. Constantine to what do I owe the pleasure of you visiting this morning," Lucius said coldly as he looked at you from his table under a willow tree.

"Good Morning Mr. Malfoy. Draco had something he wanted to show me so I came over as soon as could," you said trying to sound your normal pleasant self which was hard since Lucius Malfoy made your blood boil most times.

"Draco is in the kitchen with his mother, Good day Ms. Constantine," He said as he simply waved you off as he picked up his cup of tea, and the Daily Prophet completely uninterested in you.

"Good day," you said as you continued making your way to the garden which was past the kitchen you started to calm down.

Despite being friends with Draco for so long and knowing the Malfoy's for most of your life you could never get used to Lucius Malfoy's attitude and cold demeanor. Thankfully unlike her husband, Narcissa enjoyed you and was pleasant and kind, unlike her husband. As you walked past one of the kitchen windows you saw Narcissa talking with the house elves. She was much kinder to the house elves and treated them as if they were people rather than servants. As you continued on you saw Draco pacing as he had a few books on the small garden table.

"You know if you keep pacing like that the grass will stop growing Draco," you chuckled as you walked up to the pacing boy scaring him out of his thoughts.

"Bloody Hell Y/n you scared me," Draco said as he looked at you and clenched his chest as some of his hair fell over his eyes.

"Well it's your fault you were too deep in your thoughts that you didn't notice me," you said as you threw him an apple before taking a bite of your own, "Now what do you have for me to solve," smirking as you watched Draco catch the apple and smile at you.

"Good morning to you too," smiling as he took a bite of the apple, "So I was looking through the library since my father bought another old book collection. I looked through them and found that a few books were written entirely in some code."

"Some code or just Old English," you took out a magnifying glass from your bag before setting the bag down beside one of the chairs.

"Very Funny Y/n. But Old English I can translate. This is something beyond my skill level, surprisingly," Draco said a bit annoyed as he watched you examine the text carefully line by line.

"Surprisingly," you chuckle as you continue to examine the text.

As you examined the text it was indeed in some form of code but none that you have seen before. In the past few years while at Hogwarts, you developed a reputation of being one of the best 'code breakers' and helped translate books and texts for some extra credit for Professor Binns. After looking over the first couple of pages you take a notebook out and start writing down a few sentences and phrases. This was definitely one of the harder codes to crack but several words seemed to repeat creating a pattern in the code.

~After a few hours and several breaks later. ~

You close your notebook in excitement as you look up at Draco beaming with joy.

"You found something?" he said as he knew that smile meant you had figured out part of the puzzle.

"Maybe, these other two books are the same code?" looking at the other books around the same size but instead of being tome, they were older looking as if from the early 10th century which was most likely magically preserved.

"Well that's the thing," he said as he reached past you to pick up one of the leather-bound books, "I think these are journals," opening the book you see a neat handwriting that was oddly similar to a few books in the restricted section.

"Draco where did your father get these again?" looking up at the boy who was so close you could feel his breath on you as you looked up to those gray eyes.

"He didn't, unfortunately," Draco said as he looked at those e/c eyes of yours and smiled, "But if you look here," he opened to the last page of the one journal where there was a name on the bottom left corner.

"Merlin.." you said as if you couldn't believe what your own eyes were seeing as this was one of the journals of Merlin himself. "Draco you need to bring these wit-"

"Me to Hogwarts so that you can research it more and figure out what actually happened to Merlin this could be one of the biggest discoveries of all wizard kind," he said smiling as he closed both books, "I'm way ahead of you Pegasus, as always."

"I wouldn't say always, Dragon," dropping the nickname you gave him when you were younger and found out about his namesake. Just as he did when he found out your birthday coincided with the constellation Pegasus. Both of you smiled at each other as you packed up your bag again.

"So will you be on the train with Granger, Pottah, and Weasbee tomorrow?" he asked cautiously and dryly as he watched you pack up your stuff not wanting you to go just yet.

"Do I sense a hint of jealousy from the 'prince' of Slytherin? Because green is your color after all." teasing your best friend as you finish packing up turning to look at him as his arms are now crossed and he's looking at you with a mix of jealousy, anger, and hurt in his eyes. You always hated to see when he got like this but you suppose that's what happens when your father is a prick.

"Draco," you said softly as you walked up to him taking one of his hands, "We can sit together on the train after I say hello to Minoe and Luna. Plus we can look at these journals more. If you can sneak them out of the Manor," you say trying to calm him down.

"Taking them to Hogwarts will be easy, unlike avoiding Weasbee and Granger's arguments all year. I still don't know why you are friends with that bloo-," Draco stopped himself before saying something he knew you'd hate him for, "Bloody idiot." he said as he looked away.

"Well, I mean it comes with being friends with Mione. I can normally tolerate Ron but lately, it's just weird," looking down at the ground you think about how the train ride at the end of the year felt strange.

"I know how much you can't stand the tension between Granger and Weasbee as of late. You told me that much," chuckling as holds your hand gently thinking back to your hour-long rant.

It was true that Hermione and Ron had some weird tension between each other since the Yule Ball. Some kind of jealousy sparked in Ron whenever Hermione was around Viktor Krum. Now every time Hermione gets close to another boy Ron calls her out. It was driving you insane how dense Ron actually was.

"I just wish Minoe could tell that thick-headed boy how she felt about him. It's so obvious that the whole school can see it," you say as you look at how you are holding hands with Draco and blush a bit.

"Weasbee is as dense as they come especially when he tried to hex me with that broken wand," he says as he starts laughing which in turn makes you laugh.

"Stop it that was terrible for Ron," giggling as you playfully hit him on the shoulder.

"The number of slugs that he," Draco couldn't get the words out as he continued laughing.

You both stood there laughing for a bit as you remembered the slug incident. You remembered also how confused Draco was as you yelled at him for calling Hermione a 'mud blood'. From that day on anything he said about blood status was almost always followed by you yelling at him about how outdated those views were. And after almost 4 months of yelling and lecturing him, Draco started to think differently. As both of you eventually regained the ability to speak again you remembered that you still needed to pack.

"Shit, I gotta go pack," letting go of Draco's hand and giving him a small hug. "I'll see you tomorrow Draco."

The door doesn’t slam.

Spencer never slams doors.

But it closes a little too firmly, a little too carefully controlled, and that’s how you know.

You look up from where you’re curled on the couch, the soft glow of the TV painting the room in low light. For a second, he just stands there with his hand still on the handle, shoulders slightly hunched like he hasn’t quite made it all the way back yet.

“Hey,” you say softly.

His head lifts at your voice. The tension in his face shifts, not gone, just… tucked away. Filed under something neater.

“Hi.”

It’s automatic, the way he crosses the room to you. Like muscle memory. Like you’re part of the routine he trusts. He leans down, presses a quick kiss to your lips—gentle, familiar—but it’s over before it can settle into anything.

Too quick.

“Case ran long,” he adds, already pulling back, already halfway somewhere else in his head. “I’m—uh—I’m gonna shower.”

“Spence—”

But he’s already moving.

You watch him disappear down the hallway, the quiet click of the bathroom door following a second later. Then the rush of water.

And just like that, the apartment feels… off.

You frown slightly, staring at the space he left behind. The way he didn’t linger. Didn’t ramble. Didn’t even really look at you beyond that quick, checking-in glance.

Something’s wrong.

Not catastrophically wrong. You know what that looks like. You’ve seen it before.

This is quieter than that. He’s wound too tight.

You mute the TV, the silence settling in around you, filled only by the distant sound of running water. Your mind runs through possibilities—bad case, lack of sleep, something that stuck with him longer than usual.

Probably all of the above.

You push yourself off the couch, padding down the hallway. The bathroom door is still closed, steam already curling faintly from beneath it. You hover there for a second, considering knocking.

You don’t.

Instead, you lean your shoulder against the wall, arms crossing loosely as you wait.

The water runs longer than usual.

When it finally shuts off, there’s a pause. A long one. Like he’s just standing there, gathering himself, piecing something back together before he has to step out and be a person again.

Your chest tightens a little.

The door opens a minute later, and Spencer steps out, hair damp, t-shirt clinging slightly where it hasn’t fully dried him off. He looks… better, technically.

Cleaner. Still not okay.

He blinks when he sees you there. “Oh—hi. I didn’t—uh—realize you were—”

“Waiting?” you offer.

He gives a small, sheepish nod, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to disappear like that.”

“It’s okay,” you say, but your eyes narrow just a little, studying him. “You just got back. You’re allowed to be weird for at least, like, an hour.”

That earns you the faintest hint of a smile. It flickers across his mouth, brief but real. “Only an hour?”

“Mhm. After that I start charging you for emotional distance.”

A quiet huff of laughter leaves him, softer than usual, but it’s something. Still, he shifts his weight like he doesn’t quite know where to go next. Like standing still might let something catch up to him.

You tilt your head slightly, softer now. “Hey… are you okay?”

Spencer doesn’t answer right away.

His gaze drops somewhere between you, unfocused, like he’s flipping through thoughts too fast to grab just one. You can almost see the calculations, the quiet sorting, the way he tries to find the most accurate answer instead of the easiest one.

A few seconds pass before he exhales.

“I—” He stops, presses his lips together, tries again. “I will be.”

It’s honest. Not reassuring, not entirely comforting, but real. And you’ve learned that’s what matters with him.

You nod, stepping a little closer, your hand brushing lightly against his arm. “Okay. ‘Will be’ is acceptable.”

His shoulders loosen a fraction at that. Not fully. Just enough to breathe a little easier.

“I think I just…” He rubs at the back of his neck again, damp curls catching between his fingers. “I should probably sleep. Reset a little.”

“Yeah,” you murmur. “That sounds like a good plan.”

There’s another pause, smaller this time. Hesitant.

Then, quieter—almost careful—“Will you… come with me?”

It’s not a big question. Not really. You’ve done this countless times before. Fallen asleep together, limbs tangled, his breathing evening out beside you.

But there’s something different in the way he asks it now.

Less routine. More… needing.

Your expression softens instantly. “Of course.”

Something in him settles at that. Not all the way, but enough that the sharpest edges dull.

“Okay,” he says, almost to himself.

He shifts, gesturing faintly down the hall like he’s not entirely sure how to transition from standing here to actually moving. You don’t wait for him to figure it out. You slip past him, bumping your shoulder lightly into his as you go.

“C’mon, genius,” you tease gently. “Doctor’s orders. Bed.”

A quiet breath of amusement escapes him, and this time the smile lingers just a little longer.

He follows you.

The bedroom feels softer somehow. Dimmer. Safer.

You tug the blankets back and climb in first, settling into your usual spot without thinking. Spencer hovers for half a second before joining you, movements slower, more deliberate, like he’s still shaking off the outside world piece by piece.

The mattress dips under his weight. There’s that same brief hesitation. Then he shifts closer.

Not dramatic. Not even fully intentional, maybe. Just instinct. His arm slides around you, tucking you in against his side, his hand resting warm and steady at your waist.

You hum softly, adjusting so you fit better against him, your cheek brushing his shoulder.

For a moment, neither of you say anything.

You can feel it, though. The tension still coiled in him. Quieter now, but not gone. His fingers flex slightly against your side, like he doesn’t quite know how to let go of everything yet.

Your gaze flicks upward.

He’s staring at the ceiling. Wide awake.

Yeah. No. Not happening.

A small smile tugs at your mouth.

“You’re terrible at this,” you murmur.

Spencer blinks, glancing down at you. “At what?”

“Sleeping.”

“I just laid down,” he protests mildly.

“Mhm. And you’re already thinking too loud.”

His lips twitch faintly. “I don’t—think loudly.”

“You do when you’re trying not to.”

That earns you a slightly more real look. A little more present.

Good. But you have another idea.

You shift suddenly, twisting out of his hold just enough to grab one of the pillows from behind you.

Spencer frowns, confused. “What are you—”

You hit him.

Not hard. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to surprise.

The pillow makes a soft whump against his arm.

He stares at you. You stare back.

“…Did you just—” he starts.

You hit him again. That does it.

“Okay,” Spencer says slowly, pushing himself up onto one elbow, eyes narrowing just a fraction. “I see what’s happening.”

“Do you?” you grin, already backing up on your knees across the bed.

“I was under the impression we were going to sleep.”

“Revised plan.”

He watches you for a second longer. Then, something shifts.

It’s subtle, but you catch it. The way the tension in his shoulders loosens, replaced by something lighter. Sharper. Awake in a different way.

“You know,” he says, reaching for a pillow of his own, “there are several strategic disadvantages to your current position.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. For one—”

You don’t let him finish. You swing the pillow, aiming for his chest.

This time, he’s ready for it. And just like that, the room changes.

Laughter breaks through the quiet, sudden and bright, as Spencer catches the pillow and immediately retaliates. The first hit he lands is clumsy, glancing off your side, but the second—

“Hey!” you laugh, scrambling away as he moves forward.

The bed dips and shifts under both of you, turning the whole thing into unstable territory. You grab another pillow, swinging wildly, barely dodging his reach as he tries to corner you.

“You started this,” he reminds you, breath already a little uneven—but lighter now, threaded with something almost playful.

“And you’re losing,” you shoot back.

“I am not losing.”

“You absolutely are—”

Your sentence dissolves into laughter as he lunges, catching the edge of your pillow mid-swing and using it to yank you forward. You barely twist out of it in time, scrambling off the bed entirely with a soft thud of your feet hitting the floor.

“Oh, that’s cheating!” you accuse, already darting backward.

Spencer sits up fast, pushing his hair out of his face, eyes brighter now—really bright, the kind that only shows up when he’s fully, genuinely in something.

“That’s not cheating,” he argues, grabbing his pillow and sliding off the bed after you. “That’s adaptation.”

“You’re literally making up rules—”

“You didn’t establish any rules!”

You laugh again, breathless, backing toward the door as he advances. There’s something delightfully unfair about him like this—long limbs, quick reflexes, a surprising amount of coordination when he’s not overthinking every step.

“You’re supposed to be bad at this!” you protest.

“That seems like an assumption you made without evidence.”

“You trip over air, Spencer!”

“I trip when I’m thinking,” he corrects, already closing the distance, pillow raised like a very soft weapon. “I’m not thinking right now.”

“Oh, that’s terrifying—”

You dart sideways just as he swings, the pillow grazing your arm instead of landing square. You laugh, breathless, circling back toward the bed like it’s home base, except he’s already anticipating that, cutting you off with a step that’s just a little too quick.

Unfair.

“You’re taking this too seriously!” you accuse with a laugh, backing up until the mattress bumps into the backs of your legs.

“I take all competitive activities seriously.”

“This is not a competitive—Spencer!”

He lunges.

You try to dodge, really you do, but he catches your wrist mid-retreat, momentum carrying both of you forward. The mattress dips hard as you fall back onto it, a surprised laugh punching out of you as he follows, one knee landing on the bed beside your hip, the other sinking into the blankets for balance.

The pillows are forgotten somewhere in the chaos.

You twist beneath him, still laughing, trying to shove him off, but he’s already got you—hands catching your wrists, pinning them lightly above your head as he leans over you, hair falling into his eyes, glasses slightly crooked.

“Got you,” he says, a little breathless, a little triumphant.

“You cheated,” you counter immediately, though the words dissolve into another laugh.

“I adapted,” he corrects again, but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth now—real, unguarded, lingering.

You both go still for a second.

Not fully. Your chests are still rising and falling too fast, breaths mingling in the small space between you. But the movement slows. The laughter fades into something softer, quieter, like the room is catching up with you.

Spencer doesn’t let go of your wrists right away.

His gaze flickers over your face, like he’s remembering where he is. Who he’s with. The shift happens again, subtle but unmistakable, the playful edge softening into something warmer. Something heavier.

“Hi,” you murmur, softer now.

His lips twitch faintly. “Hi.”

“I missed you,” you say softly. 

“I missed you too,” he says, and it lands softer than everything else—like something he didn’t realize he was holding onto until it slipped out.

Your chest tightens in that quiet, familiar way.

You don’t rush it. You just… shift.

One of your wrists twists gently in his grasp, and he lets it go immediately—of course he does, there’s no resistance, no hesitation. Spencer has never been someone who holds on when you pull away.

But you’re not pulling away.

Your freed hand slides up, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his shirt, and you tug him down.

The kiss meets him halfway.

It’s warm and intentional. Your lips brushing his first, testing, and then settling when he exhales softly against you like something in him just… gives. He melts.

His grip loosens on your other wrist, not dropping it entirely at first, just easing—like he’s making sure you don’t want to move again. When you don’t, when your fingers tighten slightly in his shirt instead, he lets go completely.

His hand slides down, slow and careful, tracing the line of your arm before settling at your side.

The kiss deepens—not dramatically, not all at once. It builds. Soft turns into something warmer, something that lingers a second longer each time your lips meet. His breathing shifts, uneven at the edges, like he’s still catching up to the moment.

Like he didn’t expect this. Like he needed it anyway.

You hum faintly against him, and that does something—something visible. His hand tightens just a little at your waist, pulling you closer without thinking, pressing you more firmly into the mattress beneath him.

Grounding. Needing.

When he pulls back, it’s not far. Just enough to breathe, to look at you, curls falling messily into his eyes.

There’s still a trace of that earlier tension in him—but it’s changed now. Softer. Warmer. Redirected into something that hums low under his skin.

“Is this…” he starts, voice quieter, a little rougher now. “Is this your official treatment plan?”

Your lips curve, brushing his again, lighter this time. “Mhm. Very advanced technique.”

He huffs a small breath of laughter, forehead dipping briefly against yours. “Peer-reviewed?”

You laugh. “Extensively.”

Another kiss—shorter, but more certain.

His hand shifts at your waist, thumb brushing absent, slow circles like he’s thinking without meaning to. The rest of him follows in small ways—his weight settling more comfortably over you, one knee adjusting against the mattress, his body fitting closer instead of hovering.

Less distance. Less thinking. More here.

You slide your hand up from his shirt to his jaw, thumb brushing lightly along the edge, and his eyes flicker shut for a second at the contact.

When he kisses you again, there’s less hesitation in it. Still gentle, still Spencer, but steadier now—like he’s chosen this instead of stumbled into it. He sighs when he pulls away, a deep and satisfied sound that makes you smile again.

“Thank you,” he says.

You’re sitting by the window in one of the front rows on the jet, facing away from the entrance and most of the team. You don’t see Spencer climb into the plane, but you hear the shuffling.

Spencer usually sits near the back, playing chess against himself or reading a book and then another since he finishes them so fast. Sometimes, he sits with JJ, even rarer he’ll find himself across from Morgan who likes to tease him enough that he’d rather not be there every single flight.

He wants to sit with you, but Spencer has found himself reverting back to his early BAU self where you’re concerned. Shy, fumbling, either rambling or having no clue what to say.

You’re his friend, you’re kind to him and ask about his mom often. You bring him back a coffee whenever you grab one for yourself (if he beats you to it, he does the same), and it’s always as sweet as he likes it to be. He lends you books he thinks you’ll like, and never pesters you for them back even though you know you take forever to return them.

He walks you to your car after work every day, even if he’s finished before you are. You don’t know that bit, but he waits until you’re leaving to pack up his stuff and follow you to the elevator.

All of that, and still, Spencer gets nervous around you. He can’t even bring himself to sit next to you on the jet even though you’re beside each other at the round table each time without fail.

This time, the team’s decided to help him along.

Initially, he goes for his usual seat in the back, and finds Emily sprawling files all over the small table despite the fact that she gets nauseous reading on the plane. Behind Spencer’s back, Hotch takes the seat across from her and shakes his head when she winks at him.

Then, it’s Rossi, who’s fake-arguing with his agent over the phone about his next book. JJ’s sprawled across the small couch near the snack bar, digging into a travel-sized bag of Cheetos.

Finally, there’s Derek, who kicks his feet up onto the seat across from him when Spencer heads toward him. “Sorry, pretty boy,” he says, though he doesn’t look (or sound) sorry at all, “looks like you’ll have to try your luck over there,” he nods towards where you sit across the aisle.

You, too distracted attempting to dig your thin fleece blanket from your bag, don’t notice anything until Spencer clears his throat lightly. You finally tug your blanket from your bag and sit up, looking over at Spencer standing in the aisle, rocking on his feet once.

“Do you mind if I..?” he gestures loosely to the seat next to you.

“Of course not,” you say.

You breathe in as he sits next to you, and he smells like cinnamon and the pages of a book. Warm, comforting. You try not to let it show on your face how pleased you are to have him beside you.

When you joined the team, you’d been the most anxious you’d ever been in your life, and you remember hesitating before walking into the bullpen, wiping your palms on your black pinstriped trousers.

And then, the first face to greet you was Reid’s, and he was so sweet, apologizing for not wanting to shake your hand, spewing a fact about germs and then folding his lips into his mouth like he was stopping himself from saying more. For those few seconds, you weren’t thinking about impressing everyone, weren’t focused on that pit in your stomach at the thought of so much newness.

You liked him immediately, and his looks only made it all worse for you. His hair disheveled, his clothes neat, his hands waving around in front of him, and his voice, so lovely and focused as he sounded off statistics. You’ve been housing a crush on him ever since.

You’d heard Morgan call him pretty boy that day, and you couldn’t help but think of how fitting it was. Derek may have been teasing, but Spencer really is pretty.

And then you got to know him, got to become a part of the team and learned about his little quirks and the way that he still wouldn’t shake hands, but doesn’t mind a hug every now and then. You learned that he was pretty inside and out.

So, as he settles in next to you on the jet, you can’t help but hide a smile. You’re on the plane before him most of the time, and he’s never joined you until now.

“I have to warn you,” you say, “I might not be the best seat buddy. I almost always fall asleep after takeoff.”

Spencer shrugs, pushing his hair behind his ear and he pulls his book into his lap, “That’s alright. I like quiet.”

“What if I snore, Reid?”

“You don’t snore,” he tells you.

“Maybe I do. How would you know?”

Rather than admit that he pays attention to you during flights, that he sometimes catches himself staring at you all peaceful in your seat while he waits for his coffee to brew, that he knows you don’t snore because he’s seen you sleeping and all you do is bunch your blanket in your fists and scrunch your brow from time to time, like you’re dreaming, he says:

“Ambiance for my reading. Like white noise. You know, having an auditory background can actually support cognitive development and emotional health.”

You smile and shake your head at him. You don’t think you’ll ever be used to the way he knows something about everything, just like that. Before you can reply, the pilot alerts you all that you’ll be taking off shortly.

Spencer opens his book in his lap, and you sink into your seat and close your eyes, squeezing them shut until the jet is up in the air steadily.

Soon enough, you’re falling asleep as promised. For a while, your head’s leaning back against your seat; Spencer can’t help but think of how your neck will be sore from the position. Just as he has the thought, the jet jolts a little bit in turbulence, and your head lolls to the side and ends up on his shoulder.

He goes still for a second, afraid you’ll wake up from the movement, but you don’t. You shift the tiniest bit, almost nuzzling into him, and then you relax again. Your breathing remains steady, and Spencer tamps down a smile as the smell of your shampoo surrounds him.

Across the aisle, Morgan raises an eyebrow, shooting Reid a pointed look. Spencer simply goes back to reading his book.

He doesn’t get up to use the bathroom at all, turns pages slower than he usually would, keeps his shoulder and arm still even though he can feel them falling asleep a little. All so that he doesn’t disturb you.

Sleep is such a vulnerable state, and although he knows you nap on nearly every flight, he feels like he’s won something by having you resting on him. Like you’re comfortable, like you trust him.

Just for a second, Reid lets himself rest his head against yours.

It isn’t until you land that you wake up, the plane hitting the pavement jostling you enough that you blink your eyes open. The first thing you register is the feel of something soft beneath your cheek. When that something soft moves a little, you realize it’s Spencer’s sweater.

Still groggy, you lift your head, “Shit. Sorry, Spence. I didn’t mean to sleep on you.”

You’re a bit embarrassed, really. The one time he sits next to you on the jet and you wind up using him as a pillow without his permission.

Meanwhile Spencer doesn’t mind one bit. All he can focus on is the sleepy way you called him Spence just now. Usually, it’s Reid, occasionally, it’s Spencer, but this is the first time you’ve ever called him Spence. He wants to hear you say it again.

“Actually studies show that having weight against you can help to lower your heart rate and lessen anxiety,” he responds.

A smile ghosts across your face, because you know that’s his way of telling you not to be sorry. “So, I should be saying ‘you’re welcome,’ then?”

Yes, he thinks.

-

The team is headed to Portland this time around, and though you still don’t enjoy flying (you still need the help of a gravol-induced nap), you don’t dislike it as much.

Spencer sits with you more often than he doesn’t now. Even with you using him as a pillow half the time. He doesn’t seem to mind, which never fails to surprise you whenever you wake up.

It’s nice, though. Nice enough that you think about what it would be like to nap close to him in other ways.

You picture him on the other side of the bed in your studio apartment, picture yourself on the couch at his place (which you’ve only seen once). You imagine what he’d wear when he isn’t working, or whether he wears his glasses more often at home.

You’re snapped out of another daydream when the airport shuttle pulls over in front of the hotel you’re set to be staying at this time around. You’d landed too late to head to the police station, had left immediately after wrapping up another case, and Hotch determined at least a few hours of sleep would do you all some good.

He’s the one who goes up to the front desk when you walk inside, and comes back with only four room keys instead of seven and an apologetic Penelope on the phone.

“I’m so sorry my lovely crime fighters. They were pretty full for tonight, so you’ll have to double up, my loves.”

None of you can see her, but she’s smiling on her end of the line. She may have not booked enough rooms on purpose.

Immediately, Emily and JJ pair up and take a key from Hotch, heading to the elevators with their elbows looped together and heads bent like they’re laughing about something. Morgan snatches up another for himself saying something about needing space for “all of this.”

Rossi shrugs and pairs himself with Aaron (“for old time’s sake”), which leaves you and Spencer. Hotch hands you the room key with a simple “we’ll see you at the station at 8” before he leaves with Dave.

“Is this okay with you?” you ask Spencer. “I could always go to the desk and double check.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “We’d better go get some sleep while we can.”

And Spencer means it. He doesn’t mind sharing a room, it’s not like he’s never had to on a case before. It’s only that it’s you. He already doesn’t know how to act around you most of the time, and this feels like a whole new layer of intimacy and closeness he doesn’t know what to do with.

He wants it, of course he does. He would have preferred it in different circumstances, maybe where you weren’t pushed together by default, but still.

Spencer lets you lead the way to the elevators and then to the room. You open the door after fumbling with the key a couple of times and muttering about ‘stupid hotel doors.’

You’re glad (at least, you think you are) to see two beds when you step inside. Behind you, Spencer locks the door and slides the chain lock into place. Then, he slips past you and sets his things on the bed closest to the door. It’s safer for you that way, he thinks, if anything were to happen.

You try not to read into it, but you’re reminded of that time you’d been ranting to JJ about your date not taking the side of the sidewalk closest to the road and Spencer overheard.

It’s not the same thing, you tell yourself. It still makes you feel warm.

“Were you gonna have a shower before bed?” you ask, setting your go bag on your bed.

Spencer’s head flicks over to you “I don’t- uh. You go ahead.”

“Thanks.”

You grab your things quickly and head into the ensuite bathroom, shutting the door behind you and leaning your head against it. It isn’t until he hears the lock click shut that Spencer squeezes his eyes shut and lets his head fall forward.

All you’d said was the word ‘shower’ and he could barely manage a sentence.

He unpacks to keep himself busy as the sound of running water fills the room, grabbing his book from his bag and setting it onto the nightstand between beds along with his glasses and a water bottle.

He’s just finished folding his (few) clothes into a drawer of the dresser when the bathroom door opens and you walk out in nothing but a towel.

There are drops of water running down your neck and shoulders, your eyelashes still wet and thick where they frame your eyes. He tries not to, he really does, but Spencer can feel himself staring at you and he can’t seem to make himself stop.

You look beautiful. You always do, but seeing you this way — the way a boyfriend might — is making his heart thump heavier, his fingers twitching by his sides.

You clear your throat, nervous under his gaze that seems so focused and yet so soft. “Sorry. I forgot to grab my pajamas… so.”

It’s then that he realizes he’s blocking your path, and he quickly steps aside, bumping into the dresser clumsily. “Oh! Right, yeah. I’ll just-”

Spencer grabs his own change of clothes and closes himself into the bathroom. The mirror is still fogged up from the steam, but he starts up the shower again, hoping it’ll help clear his head. Snap him back into it.

When he emerges from the bathroom in a pair of plaid pants and a faded t-shirt, he sees you in bed, your own loose shirt on, legs covered by the blankets, and a book in your lap.

“What are you reading?”

“It’s silly,” you say, setting it face-down on the bed, a little embarrassed. “Just a romance. None of that smart stuff you read.”

“All reading is smart,” he tells you. “It’s not silly. It’s good for you.”

“I’m just saying it’s not, like, in Latin or anything.”

He huffs a laugh, settling into his own bed and sliding his glasses onto his face. So he does wear them more outside of work, you observe. He looks so lovely this way, too. His hair still damp and curling behind his ears, his cheeks rosy behind the frames. It feels like a privilege, getting to see him so.. unguarded.

“I’ve read romances, you know,” he says.

“What?”

“Mostly the classics. Jane Austen, the Brontës.”

You’re not sure why it surprises you so much, but it does. You suppose you’ve always thought that Spencer’s idea of reading for enjoyment was beyond romance, more complicated, scientific. But you should’ve known he’s read just about everything by now.

“You, Doctor Spencer Reid, have read Pride and Prejudice?”

“‘You have bewitched me, body and soul,’” is his response.

“Oh my god.” A smile stretches onto your face, slowly mirrored on Spencer’s.

You end up staying awake later than you should talking about which movie adaptation you prefer (“2005. Obviously.”), about other books you’ve both read, and then about their adaptations, too. Over time you both sink deeper and deeper into bed until you’re laying down facing each other.

You’re not even sure when you fall asleep, all you know is that Spencer’s voice is the last thing you hear, all slow and soft with his own tiredness.

When you wake up, you’re still facing each other, laying on the sides of your beds as close to the other as possible. Spencer’s arm hangs loosely over the edge, like he’d been reaching across the gap for you in his sleep.

-

The next case is only a week later, but you don’t have to fly this time around.

It’s only a 15 minute drive from Quantico, and that’s without the sirens and Morgan behind the wheel. That means you get to set up in your usual office, sleep in your bed for a couple of hours when you can. You’re never happy to have a case, because people are getting hurt, but it’s a small victory to not have to go far.

Two abductions have happened at local parks, though no bodies have turned up yet. You’ve all been working as quickly as possible, trying to keep those people alive.

Hotch gathers you all in the conference room the morning of day three on the case, delivering roles as usual. JJ to stay in the office and field calls or answer questions, Emily and Morgan to dig deeper into the victims, retracing their steps, Rossi and Hotch to scout the abduction sites again for anything they’ve missed.

You’ve found a man that has been connected to both victims, but not enough to bring him in, which is why, when he gets to you and Spencer, he says:

“You two will be following our suspect today.”

You look at each other, then back to Hotch.

Reid speaks first. “But the geographical profile isn’t done, and-”

“We don’t have anything new for the geographical profile,” Hotch responds.

“Might be good for you to go outside, pretty boy,” Morgan says. “Could use some sunlight, probably.”

“Actually it’s extremely unlikely that anyone could die from prolonged darkness,” Spencer shoots back. “Plus, we have windows.”

“This is where I need you two,” Aaron looks between you and Spencer, “alright?”

“I’ll drive,” you say as your agreement.

It’s not unusual to do stakeouts, though you don’t do them often. What’s unusual is choosing you and Reid for the job that most often goes to Morgan. You can’t bring yourself to be bothered, not when it means you’ll get to spend more time with Spencer.

Despite his putting up a fight, Spencer doesn’t really mind either. Sure, he feels like he can be more helpful doing something else, but ever since sharing a room in Portland he’s wanted to be with you alone.

There was an ease then, a comfort that didn’t come when the rest of the team was around. You’d spoken to each other before bed each night, falling asleep to the sounds of each other’s voices, and Spencer hadn’t even wanted to pack up when the case was over.

If he could have stayed one more night with you there, caught the jet in the morning instead, he would have. Happily.

Ever since that case, he does feel a little less awkward around you, though, and sometimes he wonders if you feel a little bit closer to him, too.

As promised, you drive. Instead of taking a bureau vehicle, Hotch had asked you to take your own. He’d said you’d be less noticeable that way, and that backup would always be close enough if needed.

You unlock your car in the parking lot, watching Spencer climb into your passenger seat beside you. He shuts the door behind him, buckles his seatbelt, and flicks the air freshener you have hanging over your rear view mirror.

“I can take it down if the smell bothers you,” you say.

“It’s nice,” he tells you. Birthday cake, he notices, and he wonders quickly if that’s why you sometimes smell like vanilla when you walk into the bullpen.

“Okay. Feel free to snoop.”

He smiles gently, because he’d been trying to secretly do just that. Your car is mostly clean, a few gun wrappers in the doors and a half-full water bottle in the backseat, but that’s it. Your glovebox is pretty standard, though he does find a loose figurine in it.

You notice him holding it. “That’s my car buddy. Keeps me company when nobody else is in here.”

“Won’t be needing him today,” Spencer says, putting it back and shutting the compartment.

“No, I won’t.”

The man you’re set to be following is still home when you get there, so you drive around the block and wait by the corner until he leaves.

Luckily, you don’t have to wait very long.

“He’s getting into his car,” Spencer tells you.

“And the fun begins,” you say, turning the corner once the man has pulled out of his driveway.

It turns out not to be fun, actually. It’s all very routine and normal stuff. A grocery trip, dropped back at his house before heading out again. An overpriced drive-thru coffee where he actually pays for the car behind him, which happened to be you and Spencer.

“Either he’s onto us, or he’s actually just doing a nice thing,” you say once you’ve gotten your drinks. “I didn’t think people bought other people’s coffees anymore.”

“I would have bought yours,” is Spencer’s response. Quiet and sweet and almost disappointed, like he’d wanted to spend money on you.

Eventually, your target stops at a park, which has both you and Spencer back on high alert. Both abductions happened at parks. You look at each other and get out of your car to follow him.

You notice that the man is carrying a pair of binoculars and a camera, which raises your suspicions even further. He’s equipped to scope out victims.

Spencer works easily alongside you, falling into step without question, going where he needs to without needing to say a word.

The man walks up and joins a group, some wearing cargo vests and almost all of them wearing matching hats with the same logo on them.

You sigh and dial Hotch’s number.

“What do you have?”

“Hey, this isn’t our guy,” you tell him.

“Why’s that?”

“His big secret is…” you look back at the group, “bird watching. It’s why he’s been spotted at a lot of the parks.”

“You’re sure it’s not just a cover?”

“Hotch, there’s a group of at least twenty people with him. It’s a bird watching club.”

“Actually a lot of people, especially of younger generations, just call it birding now,” Spencer chimes in.

You smile. Always something to say.

“Okay, well, why don’t you two have lunch and meet us back here after?”

You scrunch your eyebrows. “You don’t want us back now?”

“We’re not any closer than we were before, and it might be good for you two to be at the park a little longer,” Hotch tells you. “Just in case.”

“Right, okay,” you say, though you’re still not convinced. “See you later.”

You hang up and turn to Spencer. He squints in the sunlight, hair blowing over his forehead. Your hand itches to reach out and push it back for him. Spencer does it himself just as you have the thought.

You clear your throat, “Hotch says to get lunch and then head back.”

“I saw a stand back there with chili cheese fries,” he says.

Spencer doesn’t know why, for once, Hotch is encouraging a break during a case, but he’s not about to fight him on it. Without a BAU-related task to do at the moment, he gets to simply be there with you. Just you and Spencer in a park, getting food.

If he thinks about it for long enough, he can almost see the both of you like this together in more natural circumstances. Maybe then, he’d be brave enough to hold your hand.

“Daydreaming about those fries, Spence?”

He looks over at you, the sun lighting you from behind, surrounding you like a halo. “No, just… thinking.”

There’s something about the way he says it, about the way his eyes are roaming your face and his voice has gone a little bit lower, scratchier, that makes your heart beat heavier.

Before you can respond, he’s leading the way to the food stand, you not far behind. He places your order and pays before you can object.

You’re stationed at one of the picnic tables in a few minutes, a splinter of wood poking the back of your thigh through your pants, but you don’t move. Not when Spencer’s shin is resting against yours beneath the table.

The platter of chili fries sits in the middle of the table, a fork in each of your hands.

“Don’t you have a statistic in there about the dangers of sharing food?” you ask.

“I do,” he says, “but I don’t particularly.. care about that right now.”

-

You get a longer break before you’re called in for the next case, which is nice. You get to be home earlier, sleep in your sheets and spend the weekend lazily.

There’s a minuscule shift between you and Spencer since the park. An ease that wasn’t there before, a string tied in neat little bows tethering the two of you together.

He’s at his desk before you every morning, and there’s always a coffee waiting for you with a small sticky note attached. Sometimes he’ll leave you a fun fact, sometimes a simple good morning.

The last note you’d gotten before this case was just a doodle of a lopsided smiley face, which you’d stuck to the corner of your computer.

You think about those notes, those coffees as you sit in the NYPD headquarters, twirling a paper cup between your hands. Not nearly as good as when Spencer makes it.

You’re sitting beside him in a conference room where Hotch has gathered the team, your ankle leaning against his.

“We aren’t any closer to finding this unsub,” Hotch says. “We’re gonna have to draw him out.”

“Undercover, huh?” Emily asks, a subtle smirk on her face.

“Yes. We know how he hunts. He looks for couples in bars, waits for them to go outside, usually a couple that’s arguing,” Hotch says, though you all already know this. “He waits for them to split up, then takes the woman. He’s deluded himself into thinking he’s doing these women a favor. Like he’s saving them.”

“Probably because they remind him of his mother, who was abused by his father, and the unsub was too weak at the time to stop it,” Rossi adds.

“He’s been targeting the same three bars on rotation, so we know where he’ll be tonight,” Hotch tells the team.

“And you want a pair of us to go undercover.. as a couple?” you ask. It’s not like you’ve never gone undercover before, but pretending to be dating someone? You’re not the best actress.

“That’s correct.”

“I actually think you and Spencer should do it,” Emily says.

“What?” Reid speaks at the same time as you do.

“You are the unsub’s type,” Emily tells you.

“Ew,” is your response.

“And I think pretty boy over here is your best match, sweetheart,” Derek adds.

“I’m not-”

“I actually think that’s a good idea,” Hotch says.

And so, it’s been decided.

There’s a short silence, and then Spencer speaks. “Are we sure this is the best way to do this?”

“It’s okay, Spence,” you tell him, laying a hand over his forearm that lays on the table, his fingers tapping the wood. His cardigan is soft under your hand, and you give his arm a gentle squeeze.

He turns to you, speaking quietly this time, “What if something- I would rather I was the one being followed. Not you.”

Your eyes soften at his words, at the way he looks down when he says them. You run your thumb back and forth against the fabric of his sweater once, twice. “I’ll be okay. You’ll be there, and everyone else. We’ll get him.”

“I know. I just don’t want him to have time to hurt you.”

Your heart pinches. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so worried, especially not in front of other people. And he isn’t even worried about himself. His concern is you.

“He won’t,” you say.

You turn back to Hotch, and he gives you a nod, “Let’s catch him.”

“And pretty boy becomes lover boy,” Morgan says.

A few hours later you’re dressed in a black mini dress and a pair of knee-high boots, a (nonalcoholic) drink in your hand and Spencer by your side. Your entire side, from shoulder to thigh, is pressed against his where you stand at the bar, warmth sinking into you.

The unsub likes to observe the bar for a while, usually picking a couple and watching them for a couple hours before making his move. That means that you’ve spent a while being Spencer’s girlfriend.

Fake girlfriend, you remind yourself.

Still, if you let yourself forget, just for a second, that you’re on a case, it feels real enough. His hand on your lower back guiding you through the crowd, his chest brushing against your back on the dance floor.

And now, his arm wrapping itself around your waist, fingers toying with the fabric of your dress.

You both have earpieces in, where the team’s been communicating with you (a “nice moves, lover boy” from Derek, or “look at you two” from Emily, and even a “that dress is brilliant, pumpkin” from Penelope).

“I think we have eyes on our guy,” Hotch says now.

You’re almost disappointed when he gives you the signal to head outside. You like being with Spencer like this, and despite the fact that you’re undercover and pretending, you want to stay in it a bit longer.

You obey Hotch’s orders anyway, saying something to Spencer and then slipping out the back door that opens into an alley, Spencer on your heels.

It turns out that pretending to fight with him is the hardest part.

You end up making something up about his eyes wandering, even though you don’t think he looked at anyone else the entire night.

He plays along, defending himself and using words he knows will trigger the unsub. Spencer’s demeanor changes, making himself look more intimidating. He stands up straighter, walks you backwards until you land against the wall, his hands coming up and caging you in.

Your heart races, and not because you’re afraid. Because of how close he is, how you can smell him and feel how warm he is and see that despite his facade of anger his eyes are still unfailingly kind.

Finally, you shove him off of you and storm away. As expected, the unsub emerges out of the shadows, following you down the sidewalk and out of Spencer’s sight.

His stomach sinks. He’d been doing okay when you were beside him, when he knew he could protect you even when he’s well aware that you’re strong, one of the strongest people he knows. You don’t need him to protect you, but he wants to so badly.

Spencer can’t help himself, he speaks into the microphone attached to his cuff, “Guys, what's happening?”

“She’s okay,” Emily says. “He’s definitely following her, but he hasn't tried anything yet.”

“We need to wait for him to make contact,” comes from Hotch.

“What if he-” Spencer stars.

“We have to make this stick, kid,” Morgan tells him.

Spencer knows he’s right. It still doesn’t sit well with him, the thought of a man’s hands on you when he can’t do anything about it.

Your boots click against the pavement, Hotch’s voice in your ears telling you to keep going, that the unsub is getting closer. Just as a warning sounds in your ear, there’s a hand on your wrist.

The grip is tight, pinching your skin enough to leave a mark, but you don’t show it. It’s only seconds until the team and police officers come out of hiding and arrest him, effectively pulling his hands off of you.

Your hand circles the wrist he’d grabbed, rubbing the skin. It isn’t even a minute before Spencer finds you standing by one of the cars on scene, your face lit up by red and blue. He can feel the relief wash over him like a wave. You’re okay, alive. And so, so pretty.

“Hey, Spence,” you say when you see him walk up.

“Are you alright?” he asks, gesturing to where you hold your wrist.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just a tight grip. I’ve been through worse.”

He nods. “Let me see.”

You hold out your arm, and he gently grabs your wrist and pushes your sleeve out of the way, his fingertips running over your skin, his eyes scanning it. His hands are warm where they hold you, and his skin on yours makes your stomach swirl.

“I’m okay, really.”

“I know,” he says. His eyes lift to your face, soft. “I just- I don’t want you to ever have to do that again.”

You give him a tiny smile. “It’s part of the job, Spence. Besides, I thought we made a pretty good team.”

“I don’t want to have to worry about you being safe. I want to know you are.”

Oh, you think. And you know, can hear it in the sound of his voice, that it has absolutely nothing to do with your abilities, he just cares.

You shift your hand to tangle your fingers with his, and for once, Spencer doesn’t even think of his aversion to shaking hands.

“I’m safe now,” you tell him.

His thumb traces a circle against your palm.

-

+1

The team tries to get together at least once a month. Sometimes trying different local restaurants, more often taking advantage of Rossi’s mansion and lovely backyard when the weather allows.

You’re all flexible, you have to be when you do what you do, so you’re used to rescheduling or switching things up last minute.

This time around, it’s a little too much switching.

A suspicious amount.

First, it’s JJ, saying that Henry is just being far too clingy tonight for her to be able to skip bedtime. “Will won’t be able to get him to sleep, he can be pretty stubborn,” she’d said.

And you understand, of course you do. You give her a quick hug when she leaves the office, and she tells you to ‘have fun tonight,’ with something shining in her eyes that you can’t quite place.

Then, it’s Morgan, who gives no explanation besides him holding up his phone saying he’s just received an ‘offer he can’t refuse’ and then strolling out with his jacket slung over his shoulder.

Weird, you think. Not entirely out of character for Morgan, but weird.

And ten minutes later, when Emily finishes up her paperwork, checks her phone, gasps dramatically, and says that she has to get back because Sergio was trapped in her curtains, or something, it’s even weirder.

“Curtains?” you ask as she collects her stuff.

“Can’t stay, Serg needs me!” is all she says and then she’s gone.

Another few minutes, and Penelope comes by, looking apologetic.

“Not you too,” you all but whine.

“Sorry, my pretty! Internet emergency. My friend’s boyfriend might be cheating, and I have to help a sister in need!”

“But-”

She smacks a kiss on your cheek and leaves, her heels clicking as she goes.

“Where’s she going?” Spencer asks, walking up to your desk, bag slung over his shoulder.

“Something about catching a cheater,” you say. “And JJ, Morgan, and Emily are all out.”

“What?” he asks, leaning against the edge of your desk. “That’s strange.”

“I know. It’s barely even a team dinner anymore. Just us and the fathers, I guess.”

“Actually, Rossi’s not coming. He said something about being on deadline, needing to finish a chapter.”

“Oh.”

“And Hotch said he’ll meet us there, so…”

“Just us and one father, then.”

Spencer leads you out of the bullpen, and you walk to the elevator, then outside. The restaurant isn’t too far from the office, and with spring settling in, the weather is nice enough to want to walk. So you do.

He walks on the side the closest to the road, one hand wrapped around the strap of his bag, the other swinging between you. Your knuckles brush every few steps, and Spencer seems to be slowing his strides just a little bit to stay right next to you.

It makes you feel warm despite the wind biting at your cheeks.

Just as you walk up to the restaurant, both you and Spencer’s phones buzz.

You pull it out of your back pocket and find a message from Hotch: ‘Jack’s not feeling well. See you tomorrow.’

“So, just us,” you say.

“Just us,” Spencer echoes.

“Do you still want to.. I’d get it if you’d rather reschedule it to be an actual team dinner.”

“I don’t want to reschedule,” he tells you.

Before you can respond or think too hard about the soft way he’d spoken, Spencer is walking up to the door and holding it for you, the bell jingling as he tugs it open.

You blink at him, and then take the hint and walk inside. “I didn’t even know Hotch knew how to make a group chat.”

“What’s a group chat?” Spencer asks.

You sigh out a little laugh. “It’s comforting to know that there are at least some things you don’t know, Dr. Reid.”

“It’s actually pretty much impossible to know everything.”

“To know I’m better than you at something, then.”

“You’re better than me at a lot of things,” he says.

And then the hostess is greeting you, leading you to a small table pressed up against one of the windows, and depositing some menus for you to look over.

Rossi had picked the place this time, a small, family-owned Italian restaurant with classic red and white tablecloths and candles sitting atop each table lighting the place in a soft glow.

It’s funny, you think, that he’d pick a place just to not show up. Even funnier that he’d choose somewhere so… romantic. With a single rose in a vase on every table, dim lighting, mostly small tables.

The thought slips out before you can really stop it, “You know, this almost feels like a date. With just the two of us here.”

Spencer looks up from the menu when you say it, his heart thumping. You look beautiful, he thinks. You do every day, even tired or with a split lip. Beautiful whenever he sees you, but it hits him harder now.

The way the candlelight flickers across your face, your eyes sparkling in it, the strap of your top slipping slowly off your shoulder. He wants to reach out and fix it for you. To let his fingers linger.

He’d thought about being brave with you that day in the park, and maybe he still isn’t as brave as he’d like to be, but he’s brave enough to say, “Would that be such a bad thing? Us on a date, I mean.”

You search his face, almost as if you don’t believe him. Like you’d imagined it, but he’s searching your face, too. Waiting for you to respond. The toe of your shoe skims his shin.

“No, Spence. Not bad at all.”

He smiles, so gently, spreading over his face slowly, flickering like he’d been trying to suppress it and failed.

“Good. That’s— that’s good. I’d like it to be one. A date.”

“Really?”

“I know it’s customary to ask before you’re already sitting at the restaurant, but-”

You find his hand on the table, laying your palm over the back of it, cutting him off. “I’d like that, too.”

He turns his hand around and links his fingers with yours.

And just like that, you’re on a date with Spencer Reid. It feels almost natural, like this is how you’ve always been with each other, with only a small layer of nerves at the newness of it all.

You’ve been so used to keeping your crush on him to yourself that it seems like a dream to be sitting here, but it isn’t. You talk about the food, Spencer easily telling you every dish's origins. You laugh and he asks about what book you’re reading now, and you tell him and he listens.

He points out different Italian musicians playing throughout the night, you eat your food and split a dessert. He traps your ankle between his calves when your leg wanders, and you let him keep it there.

Spencer pays and you slap his wrist lightly for not letting you chip in. Then you’re walking back to the parking lot. Admittedly, you walk a lot slower this time, like you’re both dragging the evening out. This time, when your hands brush, Spencer grabs yours, and puts your joined hands in his jacket pocket.

Back at your car, you lean your back against the driver’s side door, Spencer stands not far from you.

“So we agree that they ditched us on purpose, right?” you ask him, your hand still in his now swinging between your bodies.

“Oh, absolutely.” Spencer smiles. “Though I’m not sure if we should be thanking them or getting them back for it.”

“Mmm, let ‘em sweat. I think this would have happened either way,” you say.

“Me too.” And suddenly Spencer’s face is closer to yours, only a breath away, his free hand coming up to prop himself up against your car, framing you in.

Your eyes flicker between his, and you shift a little bit closer, tugging his tie between the fingers of the hand that isn’t holding his.

“Can I?” he asks, and you simply give his tie a gentle yank and his lips are on yours.

ᯓ★

You relax your voice to bring familiarity to the center. Inquisitiveness raises in your tone. You shift to one side as you study the art.

Sylus studied the artwork again—a pastime both he and the painting came to know. Their torrid love affair was often held at the break of day when the world became silent to the real pain life could present.

All he needed were the song birds to announce sunlight. This was his alarm for sleep. Bedtimes thoughts were left in the early morning rays, burning his thoughts from the world.

“The hero conquered the dragon,” he says simply.

You scoff. “Idiots,” you mumble.

You sip the drink again to stave off the true sentence ready to make its debut off your tongue. You swallow the embarrassment in your throat of your true feelings showing.

You meant to have an inside thought.

Oops.

Sylus, however, raises his white brow, intrigued. “Idiots?” His low voice rumbles. “Do elaborate.”

“Well,” you begin with the barest hint of hesitation, “the witch for one thing—I think she’s a witch—she’s sad. Look at her posture.” You point with the cup in your hand. “She’s regretful.”

Sylus moves closer. He exposes his neck to the side to capture what you observe. “Curious how you came to that conclusion.”

He turned to see the expression in your face. He chuckles at how analytical it appears. The brow scrunched, eyes laser focused, arms crossed but loose. He didn’t expect you to continue.

“None of her gesture show pride. No master of the hunt. She’s hunched over, her finger is barely touching the dragon’s claw—like he’ll disappear.” You hold yourself a little closer. “Her eyes are drawn to the dragon but her body looks like it’s being pulled to the ground. Like it’s a battle she never wanted to fight.”

Sylus softens his eyes for a breath.

“Like she’s defeated,” you whisper.

You turn to Sylus and step back. His face is asking for more. Another answer. Another reveal. To tell him you see the painting as he does. Or that is what instinct is tugging at your ribcage.

There a quick moment of silence before you continue. “You see the dragon’s tail? It’s curled around her. Like he wants to keep her close.”

So close.

Only a few steps between them kept them apart.

The quiet grows.

“To me,” you say watching Sylus expression change, “this is a regretful mercy killing.” His mouth twitches. For a moment he wants to leap forward and spill a millennia worth of secrets.

“It’s tragic,” you finish.

His usual poker face is gone. Instead astonishment has replaced his calculated expression. Bewilderment followed then a smirk crosses his lips.

You begin to babble some type of cover up but Sylus chuckles at you. At himself. Life truly was a cruel mistress who loved to play with toys, break them and remake them. The alchemy of it all bothered him no matter how much he accepted it.

“How astute,” he says at last. He smiles. “Most miss those type of details.”

“Most aren’t looking for details. They just want what’s handed to them.”

Sylus moves closer. If only he could make you remember.

“What do you think happened to them? To the dragon and witch?”

Heat fills your cheeks as Sylus moves with intention. Training is telling you to retaliate. To do what you were trained to do under threat. To move, fight, get the advantage. But gravity has you by the ankles.

“I don’t know,” you say quietly. He’s within a whisper of space. You break the tension by looking at the picture. “But I hope they’re happy somewhere else.”

Sylus stops. His eyes of hard ruby gems soften to lush velvet petals. A twinge of hope and sadness fill the crease in his smile.

“Happiness, huh?” He removes himself from your space. A moment of weakness. Instead he focuses on the art piece. “Happiness for a dragon?”

“Dragons deserve to happy. I love dragon stories. I always hope they had a happy ending instead of a sad one. Why can’t they run away with the princess?”

Sylus puffs his chest a little at your answer. You tap your pinky on the cup trying to anticipate the next move. But there was no move.

“I like your idea,” he says with a smile.

You return the gesture. Sylus wants to frame this moment, savor it as a lock of hair in a lover’s locket. He leads you to another painting.

“Tell me what you think of this one.”