Supervisory Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid

fun spn quotes | @eidetic187

          This was supposed to be just another routine BAU case for Spencer. He was decidedly not expecting to witness a man spontaneously explode into tiny little pieces in a shower of blood && bone fragments, nor was he expecting to be shielded from said display by a complete stranger. He's half-convinced he'd been hit in the head at some point && this is all some kind of freaky dream, && he was going to wake up back in the normal world, where things actually make sense && people don't just suddenly explode && strangers don't shove rifles into his chest.

        ❛❛ You're going to what?! ❜❜ He's aware, in a detached sort of way, that he sounds like he's approaching hysterics; &&, honestly, he probably is. The brand of blood && gore he's grown desensitized to is a far-cry from what he's just witnessed, && frankly, it's insane that this other guy doesn't seem fazed in the slightest!! "No, I don't know how to shoot a rifle!!" It should probably embarrass him that he's panicking like this, but he's still stuck on the whole shower of blood && viscera thing.

          Every day for him. Okay. This situation just keeps getting more insane, && Spencer thinks he needs to just fully check-out, mentally, because it's the only way he'll be able to get his head to stop spinning. None of this makes sense && trying to force it to is only giving him a headache. So, he'll make sense of it after. For now, apparently he has stumbled upon something entirely not-human in the BAU's search for what they thought was their standard fare, && he should probably listen to the guy that seems to know what he's doing. ( Every day for him, seriously?? This is insane. )

        ❛❛ I can, um, prob — probably figure it out?? ❜❜ He's not confident, but he's going to have to do it anyway, because there's no way on this planet or any others ( because surely if monsters are real than aliens must be, too ) that he's going to be the distraction. He fiddles with the rifle in his hands, attempting to figure out the proper way to hold it. It's practically the exact opposite of the revolver holstered at his hip, && he's only growing even less confident that he can shoot this thing.

Isn't this what all the cool kids are doing? Skateboarding? It's the hobby of the summer, and even though Spencer told me this was a bad idea, I still dragged him to the skate park before it got dark and we had to run all the way back, like we've been doing most of this summer before he heads back to Nevada.

I'd been doing okay. Sort of. Pushing forward on one foot, balancing, even managing a little turn near the bottom of the bowl. Spencer had stopped watching with his arms crossed and was actually sitting on the lip of it, like maybe he believed me when I said I had this.

I did not have it.

The ramp looked smaller from the top. I'd seen another kid drop in earlier and figured that if he could do it, so could I. I tipped the nose of the board over the edge, shifted my weight forward... and the board went one way, while my feet went the other.

My back hits the concrete, a full-body slap that knocks all the air out of my lungs at once, and the back of my head bounces off the ramp on the way down. Everything goes bright and weird for a second, and I can tell Spencer's running by the panicked edge in his voice. He kneels over me and says something too fast, then holds up his fingers.

"Uh--five?"

Whoops. Probably not the right answer.

"I'm fine, Spence, really--"

Still, it hurts to sit up. Perhaps I'm not cut out for this.

          This is an absolutely terrible idea, no questions about it, && Spencer cannot believe he'd let Oliver drag him down to the skate park. He should have told him no, shut this idea down immediately with a quick recitation of skateboarding-related injury statistics; it was more likely that Oliver would get hurt than that this would go well in any way shape or form. The problem is, Spencer's been weak to Oliver practically since they'd met && would fold instantly to anything Oliver wanted, all he had to do was ask with that sweet face of his && Spencer would be gone, && he's pretty sure Oliver knows it.

          So he watches Oliver skate, at first with his arms crossed && a look that was a barely disguised mix of anxiety && disapproval. He's so certain that Oliver is going to slip && crack his skull open && then where would Spencer be?? Having to explain to Mrs. Wolf that, against his better judgment, he'd let Oliver do something dangerous && now he's in the ER getting his skull fused back together, that's where.

          To Oliver's credit, though, he seems to be doing okay. Enough for Spencer to stop drumming his fingers anxiously against his bicep && uncross his arms altogether. After a moment, he sits on the lip of the bowl to watch Oliver instead; though he's still anxious, he's less convinced Oliver is going to slip && crack his head against the concrete.

          && then Oliver slips && cracks his head against the concrete.

          Okay, maybe he doesn't exactly crack his head open, judging by the lack of any immediate blood splatter. But the sound his body makes when it hits the concrete && the way his head bounces against the ramp as gravity pulls him down is enough to make Spencer cry out. He's on his feet in an instant, scrambling down the inside of the ramp to kneel beside Oliver. This was a horrible idea, he knew it, this was a horrible idea && Oliver's hurt && he's a terrible boyfriend, he should have stood firm on this being a stupid idea && insisted they stay home && watch Doctor Who for the hundredth time instead.

        ❛❛ Oliver?! ❜❜ His panic is clear in his tone as he surveys the other boy; no obvious injuries that he can see, though he's sure the other boy will be covered in bruises by the morning. The lack of blood is a good sign, at least, but he can see that Oliver's eyes are unfocused && he's certain the boy has at least a mild concussion. So he raises his left hand over Oliver's face && holds up 3 fingers, asks Oliver to tell him how many that is.

          He does not get the answer he hopes for. ❛❛ You are not fine, Oliver, you almost certainly have a concussion — don't try to sit up yet!! ❜❜ His voice goes embarrassingly high at the end, almost sounding hysterical, as he pushes at Oliver's shoulders to keep him laid out on the concrete. He does show the boy a little mercy, though, maneuvering Oliver so his head && shoulders are leaned back against Spencer's lap instead of the hard concrete of the bowl.

        ❛❛ Just — Just lay there, for a second. ❜❜ Spencer runs a hand through his hair. He takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly; Oliver is ( relatively ) fine, there's no need to panic. Treating a concussion is easy && he'll likely be just fine in a couple of days. It could have been a lot worse.

        ❛❛ We should get you to the emergency room, ❜❜ he says finally after a few moments of thought. ❛❛ Do you think you can stand?? I can drive you there. ❜❜

"What? I can't call you my boy--"

I stop myself before I finish that sentence, looking around as I stand next to his desk and set the lunch bag I'd brought between his stacked files, knowing he'd have forgotten to eat otherwise. At the next desk over, one of his colleagues looks up from a file with the kind of smirk that tells me he might’ve heard every word. Whoops.

I haven't had the chance to visit him at the office often, so maybe I don't know how to behave around all these gun-slinging, suit-and-tie agents of the law. Maybe I should keep our association under wraps, even if a cheeky part of me, who's known Spencer longer than anyone else here, wants to say it loud and proud.

"Wow. I didn't think the Bureau would be so close-minded."

          It's not that Spencer feels in any way ashamed of his relationship with Oliver; he's never struggled with his sexuality, never felt as if it was something that had to be hidden away. It's more that the Bureau is a federal organization && he's already on thin ice considering the special exceptions that had to be made for him to even graduate from the academy. The team wouldn't care, he knew that much ( Garcia, Hotch, && Gideon had all told him as much many times over, ) but all it would take was someone outside of the team, passing by, overhearing, && deciding they didn't agree with it, && his career would be over && done with before it had even gotten off the ground. It's just not an image the bureau wants for itself, you understand, right?? ( This is also something Hotch had also assured him is an irrational worry, that any such decision would be fought tooth && nail by their unit chief, but he's always been a bit of a coward. )

          He doesn't take any great joy in shushing Oliver when he gets just a little too loud about the real reason he's visiting Spencer in the office, especially when Oliver only looks confused && then affronted. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Derek glance over && smirk, && he releases a deep sigh; he's never going to hear the end of it, now. He can already hear Derek's teasing voice in his head; oh, is that why you didn't want anything to do with Lila, lover boy?? He can already feel the impending headache.

        ❛❛ Yeah, well, it is a federal agency, ❜❜ is his reply. He fiddles nervously with a pen, rolling it between his fingers && chewing lightly on his bottom lip; he doesn't want this to sour their little meeting. It's nice, that Oliver thought to stop by && bring him lunch, && despite his fears, he's always happy to see his partner.

          So he shifts gears, giving Oliver a soft smile as he reaches out to take one of Oliver's hands in his own, weaving their fingers together && giving a soft squeeze. ❛❛ In any case, thank you for bringing me lunch, Ol. ❜❜ He speaks quietly, but it doesn't detract from the pure affection dripping from his tone, eyes soft as he gazes up at his partner. ❛❛ I love you. ❜❜ It's said in Korean, mostly because the phrase in Latin is practically the same as it is in Spanish && it's much more likely that someone around the office would be able to translate it ( Elle would, he knows that for sure, but she's not exactly who he's worried about. )

"I--ah, yes!"

I fidget in front of the boy who just walked up to me, a whole lot of shy, looking at my shoes instead of his face. Mom told me to walk down the street, visit the house on the corner, and ask for another boy my age. He went by the name of… Sebastian? Shawn? Spencer!

That's it. Spencer.

Mom thought we could get along. Two small, smart kids. Lonely kids. She didn't say that part out loud, but I knew that's what she meant. So she sent me with a Tupperware of chocolate cookies, still a little warm from the oven, the ultimate offering for a nine-year-old. I'm holding it with both hands so I don't drop it.

The boy in front of me is taller than I am. Skinnier, too, with a book tucked under his arm like he was on his way somewhere when he stopped to talk to me. I can't really look at his face, but I can see his sneakers, scuffed at the toes.

I smile at the sneakers, then make myself look up to about his chin.

"I'm looking for the Reid house. Do you know where it is?"

          He's on his way to the park just down the street, a library book tucked under his arm, when he comes across a boy who looks to be around his age looking a little lost. At first, Spencer hesitates to approach him; he's never got along well with kids his age, most of them finding his intelligence && tendency to ramble off-putting at best && downright strange at worst. He is a good samaritan at heart, though, so it is his inherent need to help people that propels him forward, gets him to ask the boy in question if he needs any help.

          The other boy is shy, he notes instantly; he won't look at Spencer, staring at his shoes instead of his face. Spencer doesn't push him; he gets it, truthfully, being so withdrawn himself that it worries his mother && made his father push him into —

          He tries not to think too long about his father, tries not to think about the letter from him that sits in a box under his bed, the very last thing he'd been given before William had disappeared from his life seemingly forever.

          Spencer focuses back in on the boy in front of him, pushing any && all thoughts of his absent father from his mind. The boy is looking at his chin now, && Spencer can't help but smile a little; it's not eye contact, but it's progress already, && it's nice to know that something about him has made it easier for the boy to at least try to look up at him. Maybe they could get along, maybe he'd finally make a friend so his mother would stop worrying —

          I'm looking for the Reid house.

          Spencer stares at him in confusion for a moment, only for it to clear as he remembers his mother had mentioned there being a new boy on his street && how she'd talked to the boy's mom && thought they could get along. Spencer didn't like it when his mom tried to make friends for him, but he never told her so because he knows she does it because she loves him && doesn't want his only friends to be fictional, existing only within the pages of books like the one he carries now. This must be Oliver, he thinks. The thought of making friends with a boy just because his mom wanted him to was not a pleasant one, but this boy didn't seem too bad. His mom had said Oliver was smart, so maybe he wouldn't be so weird about Spencer's own intelligence.

          It's a good thing they'd run into each other && Oliver hadn't ended up at his house only to be told Spencer wasn't even home.

        ❛❛ That's my house, actually. Are you Oliver?? My mom said a new family just moved in down the street && they had a son my age, Oliver, and that she wanted me to introduce myself. My name is Spencer. ❜❜ He gives the boy a friendly smile.

          Then his eyes catch the Tupperware held in the other boy's hands; he can see the cookies inside, just past the steam fogging up the clear plastic — freshly baked cookies. His smile widens at just the sight, eyes brightening. ❛❛ Are those cookies for us?? I love cookies!! ❜❜ For a brief moment, his hand twitches && he almost reaches forward to take the container — but his mom's voice rings in his head, saying now, Spencer, that isn't very polite, && he shoves his hand in his pocket instead to curb the temptation.

        ❛❛ Hey, do you know how to play chess?? ❜❜ Distantly, he realizes he's talking too much, asking too many questions, but it's in his nature && even as he realizes it, he can't exactly get himself to stop. ❛❛ I was actually heading down to a park that's just a few blocks down the street, and they have community chess tables. I could teach you, if you don't know how!! ❜❜