Mars' Moon

Spencer was about to reply, a statistic about the average rate of pedestrian injuries due to faulty footwear no doubt, when your foot skidded on a loose piece of pavement. You gasped, your hand reaching out to grip his forearm.

The movement was accompanied by a loud crack.

For one terrifying second, Spencer’s heart lurched into his throat, immediately thinking you'd snapped your ankle. But then you straightened up, staring down at your foot with a look of pure disbelief.

“Well, there it goes,” you mumbled. You bent down, your fingers closing around the strap of your shoe, now dangling uselessly with its heel snapped clean off.

Spencer had to press his lips together to suppress a grin. He failed, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.

“Don’t laugh,” you warned, looking up at him, but your own smile betrayed you.

“It’s like the shoe heard you talking badly about it and decided to stage a protest,” he grinned.

You let out a genuine laugh as you touched the plastic of the broken heel. “Yeah, there's no fixing that,” you chuckled, shaking your head.

Spencer’s smile remained, but his brain was already kicking into overdrive. The pavement was full of dirt, litter, and who-knew-what pathogens. You now had one shoe. The temperature had dropped several degrees since you left the gala. The solution presented itself and before his brain caught up, the words spilled out.

“You can’t walk like this,” he stated.

Your head, which had been bent over examining your shoe, snapped up. “What?” you asked.

A faint blush crept up Spencer’s neck. “I can carry you home. You could get a serious infection if you walk barefoot.” The words came out rushed.

You just stared at him, your mouth slightly agape. The mere idea of Spencer Reid, your brilliant, adorable, long-time crush, sweeping you off your feet, quite literally, was enough to make you feel dizzy.

Spencer stared back, waiting.

You stared at him, still wide-eyed. A part of you was worried this was some kind of fever dream. “I can walk, really,” you insisted, though the protest sounded weak even to your own ears.

Spencer gestured again to the grimy pavement. “The statistical probability of contracting an infection from urban soil is significantly high,” he mumbled, his voice soft. “Plus, you could easily cut your foot on a piece of glass or debris. I don’t want that.” He shifted his weight, his hands flexing slightly at his sides as if already anticipating the task. “It’s a much more efficient and safer solution. I really don’t want you to get sick or hurt.”

( And, if he was being completely honest with himself, he really, really wanted to hold you. )

You bit your lip as you glanced down at the ruined shoe.

“I won’t drop you,” Spencer added, a gentle tease meant to lighten the atmosphere. The promise made you giggle and the sound immediately brought a shy smile to his own face.

You looked up, meeting his earnest hazel eyes. “You’re sure?”

Spencer nodded quickly. “Yes. Absolutely.”

You took a deep breath, your heart hammering against your ribs. “Okay,” you mumbled, the word a surrender to both logic and a secret, desperate hope.

You bent down, grabbing the broken shoe and slipping it back onto your foot. It sat at a useless angle, the heel dangling by a thread of leather. Spencer watched the entire process in silence. He was preparing himself for the imminent, terrifying, wonderful fact that he was about to hold you, your entire body, in his arms.

You stood up, giving him a small, nervous nod.

He bent his knees slightly, one arm sliding securely under your knees while the other wrapped firmly around your back, his hand splayed against your shoulder blade. In one surprisingly smooth motion, he lifted you up against his chest. You let out a small gasp, your stomach swooping as your feet left the ground. A faint, proud smile touched Spencer’s lips at the sound. Instinctively, your arms flew up and locked around his neck. You were hyper-aware of every point of contact like the solid muscle of his chest against your side and the rapid beat of his heart.

“Am I too heavy?” you asked quietly.

Spencer shook his head, making a slight adjustment to shift your weight more perfectly into his embrace. “Not at all,” he murmured.

He was far less concerned with your weight, which was negligible to him, and more so with the fact that he felt like he might pass out from the sensation of your arms interlaced around his neck, your cheek so close to his.

He started walking and you tightened your hold just a fraction, burying your smile against his shoulder to suppress the happy, disbelieving squeal that threatened to escape.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, your lips close to the skin of his neck.

Spencer had to consciously force his eyes to stay open, a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold skating down his spine at the feel of your warm breath against him.

He smiled, risking a glance down at you, but the overwhelming intimacy of the moment made him look away again almost immediately. He couldn't hold that gaze for long, not with you so close, not with his heart thudding so loudly he was sure you could hear it. “Nothing to thank me for,” he said softly, his voice a little tight.

You adjusted your arms around his neck, settling in. After a few moments of comfortable silence, you grew bolder, letting your head relax fully against his shoulder. Spencer’s smile deepened.

He was holding you. Just an hour ago, he’d nearly short-circuited at the gala when your fingers brushed his as you handed him a glass of soda. Now, he was carrying you home through the quiet streets, and you were laying your head on his shoulder as if it belonged there.

Meanwhile, you were just as delighted. He was so warm, and he held you with such care, being mindful not to grip too tightly, which made you feel safe enough to sink into him completely.

“Did you see Rossi downing like ten drinks?” you mumbled, your words vibrating softly against his shoulder.

Spencer huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure I saw him ordering three more when we left,” he said, his attention split between your conversation and carefully navigating the uneven pavement.

You smiled, and Spencer felt another, more pronounced shiver run through him when your fingers crept up, gently combing through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. You were certainly going to take advantage of this situation. If you were already in his arms, what was the harm in finally touching the hair you’d always admired?

“I really liked your hair tonight,” you mumbled, your voice drowsy as you continued to brush through the soft strands.

Spencer’s breath hitched. His steps faltered for just a second before he recovered, holding you a little tighter. The simple, tender touch felt more intimate than anything he could have imagined.

Spencer shivered. “Don’t,” he mumbled, the word strained.

“What?” you asked, pulling back slightly to look at his face, your fingers stilling in his hair.

He swallowed hard, his gaze fixed somewhere far away, a faint red flush creeping up his neck. “I’ll… I’ll drop you,” he admitted, voice quiet.

You grinned, the pieces clicking into place. “Why? Does it feel nice?” you teased softly, your smile widening as his blush deepened.

Spencer didn’t answer. His brain-to-mouth filter had completely short-circuited. “We’re almost here,” he mumbled instead, quickening his pace just a fraction toward your apartment building.

You chuckled, resting your head back on his shoulder. “Saved by the door.”

The two of you lapsed into a comfortable silence for the remaining steps. “You’re really making me feel like a princess here,” you mumbled against the warm fabric of his jacket, your breath ghosting over his skin once more.

Spencer smiled softly, the words slipping out before he could even think to stop them. “Well, you look like one.”

He barely registered what he’d said until you raised your head again, your eyes sparkling with a happiness. You beamed at him. “Thank you, Spencer.”

True to his word, he didn't set you down at the building's entrance. He carried you through the lobby and up the single flight of stairs to your apartment door. Only when you were safely on your own welcome mat did he gently lower you, his hands lingering on your waist for a moment to ensure you were steady.

As soon as your feet touched the ground, his arms felt strangely, profoundly empty. He would have carried you around the entire city if it had been an option.

You smiled up at him, smoothing down your dress. “Do your arms hurt?” you joked, though it was a serious question.

“No. Not at all,” Spencer replied with a genuine, if slightly dazed, smile. If anything, they felt hollow and oddly light.

“That was really nice of you, Spencer,” you said, your voice softening.

Spencer simply smiled back, taking the moment to admire you in the hallway light. With your hair slightly mussed and your cheeks flushed from the cold, or maybe from being carried, you still looked as lovely as you had at the gala, if not more so.

You turned to your door, opening your purse to fish for your key. After a moment of searching, you found it and slid it into the lock. You were distracting yourself from your next move, which is why you focused so intently on the simple act of opening the door. Spencer stood awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

The moment felt like it was ending too soon.

“Well, I’ll… I’ll see you at work,” he said, the words feeling inadequate. He wrung his hands slightly as you finally pushed the door open, and he couldn’t help but glance inside, catching a glimpse of your cozy living room and the hallway leading deeper into your home. It felt incredibly personal, and it made his heart ache with a strange longing.

“You looked beautiful tonight,” he finally managed to get out, the words rushing together in his haste to say them before he lost his nerve.

You finally turned to fully meet his eyes, and he noticed a flicker of a nervous glint in your gaze. Your smile was a little weak around the edges. “And you looked very handsome,” you replied, your voice just above a whisper.

And before he could process the compliment, before he could even form a response, you reached up. Time seemed to slow down as you pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, handsome,” you mumbled against his skin.

One of your hands remained on his other cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over his cheekbone in a gesture so tender it made his knees feel weak. You then stepped back, balancing on the heels of your one good and one broken shoe.

Spencer stared at you with wide, stunned eyes, his entire being focused on the warm, tingling spot on his cheek where your lips had been. “Oh—you’re—you’re welcome,” he breathed out, the words barely audible.

He felt dizzy, his mind completely blank of everything except the memory of that kiss.

He took an unsteady step backward, needing to put a fraction of space between you before he did something utterly foolish, like confess everything he was feeling right there in the hallway. “Well, I’ll see you—on on—Monday,” he stammered.

You smiled. “See you then, my knight in shining armor,” you joked, a flustered expression forming on your face.

Spencer blushed prettily in return, but he managed to find his voice. “See you then, princess.” The pet name, shot back with such confidence, left you just as flustered as he was.