⅋ ⁱ ᵍᵒ f͒̽̐i͋̈́̚r͆̀̾s̔͊͆t̀̈́̈́ ‧ ‧ ‧

❝ we shouldn't be doing this.  ❞

" hey , " she murmurs , giving the other a light nudge .

‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎it was a tough case , and they're all reeling . the jet is eerily silent , as ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎it usually is at times like this .

for a while, it is just them girls, a drink in each right hand, only for them to rotate like horses on a carousel ; tasting each with a severe expression, as if appointed mistresses of cocktails, only to give the drink back with a compliment and a print of lipstick. once they have gone from sober to tipsy, the group has moved on to the dance floor where space is offered to them in the form of amused customers watching as jj & juno wash over the old parquet. penelope is in the business of getting them refills when derek passes the door. it’s a strange feeling, the way she immediately knows when he has entered the door ; how her eyes fall on his body with a conviction she so rarely encounters, like, yes, here you are, i was waiting for you. even though she isn’t always aware that he is about to walk through the threshold. call it her spidey senses, rather than a stupid crush.

derek’s already dancing by the time she has taken him to the middle of the circle, and she has to admit he is as incredible here as he is out of such a place. whatever his mother put in his bottle as a child, it worked out perfectly, because that boy is lighting the dancefloor on fire & all garcia wants is to become part of the barbecue. so, for lack of a better word, that’s where we lose her : she’s stolen by the spectacle of morgan & has no more thoughts to be observed. at least none that don’t reach a too-high number of decibels.

the same cannot be said about spencer reid, who’s still standing at a certain distance from the group. he doesn’t have the same confidence as derek and he certainly does not possess the same skills. so he’s sitting, and waiting, and perhaps hoping that time will pass and they will get so intoxicated they will not see him slipping out to go read his book outside. it’s not as if he can leave : they took derek’s car.

however, that strategy of waiting it out didn’t take into account juno’s interest in him, which takes the form of loud & heartfelt pleading, something that he wasn’t prepared for and is completely infatuated by. her hands capture his & the boy finds himself following, after a moment of refusing to budge. he fears that if he had tried for longer, she would have gone for a firefighter hold in order to get him where she wants him. juno is not a woman you want to cross ; especially not if she’s as tipsy as she appears to be right now.

safe hands, she says, probably a countermeasure to calm down the erratic beatings of his heart & the terrified look on his face. “twenty percent of emergency room visits are tied to nightclub injuries” he tells her, words fumbling over each other, “and most of these occur when patrons are dancing. so this is not what i call safe.” but there’s no point in arguing with her : she’s barely staying on her feet, and he fears that if he doesn’t follow her through the crowd she’ll fall on her face and disappear under the stomping.

      say   now,   for   instance,   when   derek   is   the   centerpiece   of   the   dance   floor   and   encouraging   emily’s   hooting   ‘n   hollering,   along   the   inching   footsteps   of   others   around   them.   women   with   dangling   earrings,   glittery   eyeshadow,   and   colorful   dresses   ---   and   he   only   needs   ONE   woman   with   all   this   glamor      [   you   can   see   it   in   his   eyes   ].      when   he   shimmies   over   to   penelope’s   side   and   takes   her   hands   into   his,   twirling   her   until   her   blouse   is   pressed   against   his   chest   and   he   wears   the   brightest   of   smiles.   sure,   if   juno   were   lucid   and   in   their   line   of   sight,   and   if   she   cared   in   this   second,   that   wicked   brain   of   hers   might   have   caught   onto   the   way   derek   morgan   holds   penelope   garcia   so   gently   despite   the   thrashing   and   jumping   their   music   requires.   she’s   in   her   own   world   now,   a   lost   cause   to   many   because   it’s   quite   interesting   what   kind   of   person   juno   can   become   in   doctor   reid’s   presence.   she   can   let   her   guard   down,   can   unclench   her   jaw,   and   smooth   out   the   tensed   nerves   in   her   muscles.   finding   the   courage   to   smile   &   laugh,   to   indulge   in   trivial   matters   like   discussions   surrounding   the   paleolithic   age   and   just   how   many   people   live   in   a   rural   town   in   utah.   or,   and   this   is   where   she   really   changes,   how   excited   and   floundered   she   becomes   when   mentioning   classic   literature   ---  amazed   that   there   is   someone   else   who   appreciates   steinbeck   as   much   as   she   does.   juno   should’ve   taken   gideon’s   word   when   he   had   FIRST   reassured   her,   that   they   shared   more   than   a   badge   pinned   to   their   breast.   

      she   would   never   underestimate   spencer   again,   but   he   continuously   proved   to   her   that   he   did   not   feel   the   same.   when   juno   tells   him   she   can   look   after   him,   like   she   has   before,   and   he   responds   in   the   natural   way   of   his.   with   another   stat.   “   you   don’t   trust   me?   ”   and   where   there   should   be   a   pout,   there’s   a   cherry   red   smile;   because   there’s   quite   a   lot   the   man,   this   scholarly   man,   does   not   know.   for   one,   juno   loves   her   glasses   of   strawberry   vodka   because   of   the   pink   it   draws   onto   the   apples   of   her   cheek,   the   way   it   pushes   her   through   lively   steps,   and   how   it   lights   a   spirited   beat   from   her   heart   ---   er,   no.   the   latter   didn’t   have   to   be   the   effect   of   an   alcoholic   drink,   but   instead,   the   relaxing   smile   capturing   reid’s   lips.   she   might   be   fizzing   out   into   someone   else,   but   she   could   be   agent   suárez   if   she   needed   to   be.   if   someone   glanced   at   them,   or   HIM,   in   an   unpleasant   way,   she   could   still   leap   into   action      [   a   little   uncoordinated,   but   still   ].      juno   would   destroy   anything   that   could   slightly   present   itself   as   a   threat.   something   that   could   ruin   their   fun,   his   fun.   

      it takes all of you to bite back the morbid response that so quickly formulates in your mind:   we could die,   any of us,   all of us.   you could die again   (   the first death,   although not one including the cessation of your mortal life,   was death none the less-   &   prior to that you felt the sharp sting of a knife threaten to take even the simplest thing from you:   breath   /   death is simply your friend,   waiting   ).   instead,   you laugh.   it's not a full laugh,   nor one that reveals a whole smile,   but something short   &   bitter.   you're playing a part,   you need to maintain face as you turn your brown gaze up to @suarcz.

      𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠?   𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥,   𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭   𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭   𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈,   she   does   not   answer   as   much   as   she   wants   to.   it   couldn’t   have   been   more   clear,   those   years   ago,   just   how   much   juno   envied   his   ability   to   learn,   to   read,   to   understand   everything   so   effortlessly   [   regardless   of   him   refuting   this   ].   the   way   gideon   would   MARVEL   at   him   like   a   prized   possession,   like   his   own   son,   always   so   proud   when   the   young   man   could   stun   a   room   into   silence   with   his   incredible   knowledge.   yes,   juno   had   been   jealous   of   the   boy   genius   [   she’d   felt   other   emotions   pass   in   his   presence,   but   he   didn’t   seem   to   notice   any   of   them   ]   and   juno   remained   envious   until   she   saw   how   it   was   his   very   own   weakness.   his   mind,   the   greatest   gift   yet   the   heaviest   burden.   how   he   carried   these   details,   pieces   he’d   picked   up   from   here   and   there   like   broken   gifts,   keeping   them   to   himself.   knowing,   and   still,   refusing   to   burden   anyone   else   with   it.   her   envy   had   warped   into   reverence,   and   then,   without   much   warning,   adoration.   she   would   let   him   mar   her   hands.   

      where   she   is   not   satisfied,   because   she   is   convinced   she   does   not   have   him   entirely   to   herself   and   herself   only,   gratification   lulls   in.   a   face   she   thought   was   saved   for   the   evidence   board   until   it   meets   her   physique   and   she   saves   it   for   herself,   in   a   space   lodged   not   far   from   reach.   it’s   all   too   good,   when   spencer   is   speechless   and   rummaging   inside   his   head   for   something.   anything.   god,   forgive   her,   but   how   does   teasing   him   into   a   stupor   turn   her   on?   licking   her   lips   when   anyone   else   would   have   been   surprised,   maybe   even   slightly   disturbed,   by   his   choice   of   words.   not   juno,   no.   she’s   always   been   the   last   person   to   walk   away   from   his   self   indulging   monologues,   how   is   this   time   any   different?   

      “   see,   how   do   you   know   all   that?   ”   not   even   the   slightest   bit   discouraged,   even   if   spencer   had   not   given   her   the   answer   she’d   wanted   to   hear   [   but   one   she’d   expected   to   receive,   so   does   this   solidify   her   theory?   is   she   so   in   love   with   him?   ].   shifting   closer   to   the   outline   of   himself   he’s   created   in   wrinkled   sheets,   leg   brushing   aside   his.   

“how can i not ask?” his smile is bitter, and it stains his face in the same way as pain did, only it is not distorded by an old camera & a screen. no static to make him appear like a faraway object. “you saw everything.” there are a thousand scenarios playing through his mind and in each one he explains it differently. in some, he tells her that he was whimpering long before the needle touched his skin. so for a few moments of desperate bliss, he was thankful for the drugs, thankful for the silence and the calm and that, when it came to leave, he knew he had to take some home with him. in others, he simply stares at her until she quietly wriggles out of her seat, apologizing and telling him that she’ll give him the time he needs. in that life, he knows, things do not end well for him. drugs swell his veins while his mouth remains stubbornly closed, and when hotch’s severe gaze falls upon him, it is not tainted with sadness, only disappointment. as for gideon, he is not there at all, he has already moved on : his shiny boy-shaped toy is no longer working the way it was meant to, and so it is deemed useless. what is a soldier if it cannot fight in the war, etc etc.

in some scenarios, though, it is through sobs that he explains it all : how he dug a grave for a man who had not lived at all, how he buried a needle in his forearm to quiet a mind that never genuinely spoke of what it longed for, and so all he faced at the end of that night was his own failure at being alive. and how, while everyone else thought he had clung to life, it was the other way around : life had held him. life had not let go. and spencer wanted to honour it, he really wanted to, but on days like this, with trembling fingers and restless knees, he understood that life was something one was meant to bite into ; not something to cherish through the pages of a book. he was not up for the task. even given a second chance, he was going to fail.

which leads us back here, where he looks at juno – the embodiment of the life he wishes he could live & yet cannot imagine for himself. her reassuring smile is a small, sad bird that will not take flight. spencer understands: even for profilers, it is sometimes hard to lie through your teeth. “it’s fine.” he says, and the subject is immediately dropped, abandoned & discarded. spencer’s hand slowly abandons juno’s, perhaps the only proof of the chasm being dug between them.

    𝐡𝐞   𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐬   𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦   𝐡𝐞𝐫   𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞   the   earth   splitting   in   two,   creating   a   rift   that   is   exactly   the   size   of   the   table   between   them   and   then   some.   a   rift   that,   in   a   way,   should   parallel   the   one   she’d   carved   from   her   flesh   to   comfort   him   ──   but   juno   had   lost   herself   in   self   pity   and   instead   of   it   being   thrown   in   her   face,   it’d   been   tossed   into   spencer’s   lap.   it’s   fine,   but   it   really   isn’t.   a   weight   drops   in   her   gut,   tearing   her   from   the   inside.   discomposed,   CONFUSED,   humiliated,   yes.   fine?   no.   

    juno   clears   her   throat,   sinking   back   into   her   seat   in   an   attempt   to   comfort   herself.   it   does   her   no   favors   and   neither   does   pressing   her   fingers,   ones   he’d   discarded,   to   her   mouth.   when   her   composure   could   crumble   in   the   face   of   a   simple   gesture,   there   might   as   well   be   no   hope   for   her.   this   place   ──   no,   it   was   him.   spencer   had   made   her   into   a   sentimental   fool.   thinking   he   trusted   her   (   and   she   was   naive   for   this   ).   enough   to   entertain   this   moment   between   them.   if   you   could   call   it   that.   a   colloquial   conversation,   more   likely.   

    what   to   do?   to   sell   the   picture   of   your   indifference.   your   immovable   nature   he’d   snaked   his   way   through.   hand   in   unlovable   hand.   what   an   idiot,   thinking   they   fit   so   perfectly   in   this   fissure.   knowing,   knowing   he   was   struggling.   in   some   way,   an   answer   she   dare   not   rest   her   finger   on   for   the   fear   of   losing   him   entirely.   perhaps   it   were   not   true   at   all,   just   something   she’d   made   up   in   her   head,   and   he   was   fine.   he   didn’t   want   HER   help,   this   was   true.   still   …   something   does   not   sit   right.   it   pokes   and   prods   her   shoulders.   spencer   reid,   ever   the   person   to   give   you   his   courtesy   and   attention,   didn’t   he   deserve   the   same   care?   

    she   will   excuse   herself.   walk   to   the   bathroom   ──   that   is   a   blatantly   obvious   maneuver   for   someone   admitting   defeat.   instead,   her   hand   searches   and   clasps   onto   the   book   she   should   have   paid   more   mind   to.   kafka   and   his   worn   out   looking   glass,   foggy   from   all   its   preconceived   notions.   of   people,   passersby.   some   observations   astute,   others   not   so   much.   juno   may   have   been   wrong   about   doctor   reid   (   he   wasn’t   spencer   anymore,   not   with   this   distance   between   them.   she,   was   now   agent   suárez   )   and   he   did   not   trust   her.   does   she   have   the   right   to   take   offense?   when   she’d   promised   herself,   a   promise   she’d   readily   broken,   that   these   people   would   REMAIN   her   colleagues.   what   an   idiot,   throwing   it   away   for   a   magic   trick   that’d   destroyed   her   propensity   for   professionalism.   the   first   success   at   a   sensational   smile.   the   looking   glass   did   her   no   favors.