perv spence hq

second, i appreciate all of the amazing comments i've gotten on my works in my absence, and the messages in my inbox so much. i had no idea what was going on here, and logging on today and seeing just a portion has made me so happy & also sad that i've missed it. you all are national treasures and i love you very much.

i don't really have any elaborate reason on leaving. it was just life. i started a new job a few months ago, it got busy, i got busy, i started remembering to prioritize the relationships in my life. but i'm alive and well, and i appreciate the concern i've gotten from friends and those in my inbox!!

i'm sure you all are curious about what comes next with my fics. i don't really have concrete answers :( i miss writing like crazy, but i'm about to move across the country for work (hello life update) and i can't promise i won't be equally, if not more, busy. but what i do know is that i want to keep writing. the love i lost for writing the past two months is coming back, and i want to keep it going in a much healthier way than i was doing before.

so, if i continue to write, that will be the only content i'll keep posting on my blog. i'll turn this into a writing blog so that updates are easy to spot if and when they're out <3

thank you if you're still following, if you're still reading, and if you're still interested in reading more!

sorry this was very long. it's the morning and i'm only halfway through coffee <333

_

Reading his mind, you added, “You know, I keep telling you to just use a pencil so you don’t have those bothersome ink issues.”

You already knew what he was going to say. At the same time, you both chorused:

“That’s not the way to do it.”

“That’s not the way to do it. I know.” Shaking your head, you hopped off the top of his desk, removing the stopwatch dangling from around your neck on a lanyard and placing it neatly inside his cup of highlighters. “Don’t worry. We’ll get it tomorrow.”

He smiled and agreed. He might not have beat his record, but at least this morning wasn’t a total waste. He still got to hang out with you.

You picked up your almost finished cup of coffee and took a slow sip, savoring the last remaining bits. Spencer always made the best coffee in the world. You’ve asked him for his secret and he refused to tell you, mostly because he didn’t mind making it for you. In fact, for that exact reason, he didn’t want to tell you. Because then you wouldn’t need him to do it.

“Mm. I’ll bring the paper, you make the coffee,” you joked, bumping the side of his arm. Of course he was going to do that; it was your routine since forever. Each morning started the same.

You and Spencer would always arrive at the office twenty minutes early. Even though Spencer had subscriptions to every newspaper around town, you still brought one in, and while he was in the kitchenette making his top secret coffee, you waited for him at his desk. With your specially-made coffee in hand, you’d time Spencer while he worked, just to keep him honest about how fast he could really solve the puzzles.

It started because you didn’t believe him when he said he finished the Sunday puzzle – objectively, the hardest of the week – in roughly seven minutes. It seemed outlandish to you, but you’d only met him a few days prior and hadn’t yet learned not to question that kind of thing. So, the next morning you strolled up with the Times and challenged him to complete it. If he couldn’t do it in seven and a half, he was to buy you a cup of coffee. And if he did, you’d buy him one.

That day, he broke his record. He did it in six minutes and forty-two seconds. Still, he offered to pay for that cup of coffee.

And a routine was somehow born from that. Since then, he’s shaved his time down to five minutes and thirty seven seconds. You learned that his homemade coffee is better than anything, and stopped letting him buy your coffee in lieu of making them himself. There were days he finished the puzzle before you even finished your coffee. And days where the puzzle was forgotten entirely in favor of conversation.

There were also days where you’d compete to see who would finish first; Spencer and the crossword, or you and the coffee. Until you’d burned your esophagus one too many times trying to get ahead, and for your own good Spencer had to implement a rule against competitions.

Mostly, though, that extra twenty minutes before work was never enough. Making the coffee only took three, and doing the puzzle never took more than nine, and somehow the excess of eight minutes was always too short. Even with no coffee and no crossword, you’d stay at his desk until it was absolutely imperative to start working, or until Hotch came in and gave you one of his disapproving looks.

That morning, you had to leave Spencer’s side because Hotch called everyone in for an early morning meeting. One that you were already three minutes late to.

“So nice of you to finally join us,” Emily crooned as the two of you finally walked in, the last to arrive.

You playfully rolled your eyes at her, “Should be used to it by now.” It happened often enough that Emily’s quips were getting repetitive.

Hotch closed his eyes and sighed. “Your tardiness isn’t something to be proud of, agents.”

“Sorry,” Spencer whispered and walked around to the other side of the table, going for the usual spot in one of the two empty chairs that sat side-by-side.

Only to find a stranger already in it.

“Oh.” He took a step back, only now noticing the man sitting in his unassigned assigned seat. He blinked awkwardly at him, slightly embarrassed and confused. “Hi?”

“Did we miss something important, Hotch?” you laughed.

“Yes, actually,” he huffed, not finding humor in the fact that you routinely missed the beginnings of his meetings. “This is agent Luke Alvez, he’ll be joining us indefinitely.”

Spencer gave the new agent a shy wave, which was only half-acknowledged because you interrupted by placing a hand on Luke’s forearm and a very welcoming, “Hi, Luke, welcome to the team.” You flashed him one of your signature bright smiles, equally returned by Luke himself, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The two of you held eye contact for a prolonged second before returning to the room.

_

Spencer noticed it, but he didn’t mention it. At least not right away.

The introductions were cut short, Hotch gave the brief on the case, and the team packed into the jet. Spencer made it on last, and when he boarded he found out the repercussions of taking too long to decide which book to bring for the trip.

Luke had once again taken Spencer’s seat. No, it wasn’t labelled as his, but it was next to you, and that made it Spencer’s seat. He awkwardly shuffled past you and Luke, talking on your chairs side-by-side, and went all the way to the back of the plane.

He hadn’t sat on the tiny couch in a while, even though it was his favorite spot on the plane. Mostly because you preferred the seats and hardly ever agreed to utilize the couch unless Spencer had all but forced you into following him back there by refusing to sit in the normal seats. You had to, because he was the keeper of whatever book the two of you were reading together, and how could you make it through the trip without your in-flight entertainment?

He guessed he should enjoy being on that couch, but it didn’t quite feel as nice as he remembered it. He kept looking over to where you were sitting, his carefully chosen copy of Pride and Prejudice abandoned in his lap.

Luke sure seemed to pique your interest. You had one earbud in, and Luke had the other, while he showed you different songs on his iPod. He was talking excitedly about music, and Spencer could tell you were listening to every word of it, because of course you were. Spencer figured out early on that you were the rare type to actually listen to people when they talk, even if the things they’re passionate about aren’t of your particular interest.

Spencer waited a while, but thirty minutes later, you were still listening to Luke, who had now moved on to talking about his dog, Roxy. He wasn’t going to start your favorite novel without you, so he put it back in his satchel and kicked up both feet on the couch. He figured he might as well take a nap if he had nothing else to do with his time.

_

An hour later, he was woken up by a sudden weight on his lower legs.

“Hm?” he opened one eye, unfolding his hands from behind his head and propping himself up on them, still in a fog.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Whenever he sat up like that, his tummy got a soft pooch to it, and you gave him a good poke there. His tum flinched reactively at the tickling.

When he realized it was just you, he laid back down on the seat, closing his eyes again.

“Wake up!” You poked him again, and again, until he had to open both eyes and slap your invasive hand away. To which you doubled down with both hands, index fingers leading the charge against his tummy in rapid succession, and he couldn’t get rid of them fast enough anymore. “Wake up! I’m bored.”

Spencer groaned loudly, stopping your assault by grabbing both your hands and finally sitting up. He moved his feet back down to the floor, gently tossing you off his legs in the process. No worries; that just made room for you to take a proper seat next to him instead.

“What book did you pick out for us?” you asked, cozying up to his side. Spencer smiled and reached down to his satchel, knowing you were going to love his choice. “Oh! My favorite!” you cheered, lightly clapping your hands together.

He grinned to himself, watching you look at his worn-in copy with so much excitement in your eyes. “I know.”

Stealing a portion of Spencer’s blanket and adjusting it so it laid over both of your laps, you rested your head on his shoulder and waited for him to begin.

“What are you waiting for?” You scrunched your brows when a full minute passed and he hadn’t started reading.

“Oh – I… I thought you were sitting over there,” he tilted his head to the side, where you previously had been enjoying Luke’s company.

“Yeah, but I missed you.”

Spencer’s imperceptible pout twitched into a smile at your admission. But he still wanted to pull your leg for abandoning him for Luke.

Even if, in reality, you had actually gotten there first and saved the other seat for Spencer, only to feel too rude to tell the new guy he couldn’t sit there when he boarded two minutes later, saw an empty chair, and sat down.

“Ohhh, Agent Alvez wasn’t holding your attention?” He said in a teasing tone, placing his hand on your forearm just as you did to Luke earlier, tucking a strand of hair behind his ears, and batting his eyelashes dramatically.

“I don’t bat my eyelashes like that.”

“Right, you just do everything short of that,” he laughed. You socked him in the bicep, not even feeling an ounce of guilt when he cried out and grabbed his arm in pain.

“Shut up and read, Reid.” He shook his head at your poor attempt at a play on words. An overused and unoriginal one, and yet he knew you still found yourself clever for it. You knew it was lame, but he still giggled, even if it was a tiny one that he stifled under a tight lip because he didn’t want to give you the satisfaction. You placed your head back on his shoulder as he cracked open the book and started on the first page.

–

With a big yawn, Spencer stood up from his desk and stretched his arms out, wiggling his toes and extending his fingers to re-energize his tired body, in need of a mid-afternoon pick up. It was a habit you got him into a while back. You noticed his ridiculous caffeine intake and suggested that he try alternative methods to upping his energy. Like a good stretch or walk around the room to get his blood flow going after hours of hunching over files.

So, he got into the habit of standing up to stretch, taking a quick lap around the room, and walking right into the kitchenette to make himself a cup of coffee as soon as that was done.

In return, you got into a bad habit of overconsuming caffeine, because each time he got up to make himself a coffee, he brought you one too.

While he waited for the coffee to drip into the pot, he passively tapped his fingers on the countertop and hummed a tune. He didn’t know the name of the song but it was something you played for him on your iPod, listening with one earbud each, on the way home from work the previous night.

He poured two cups of coffee; one for himself, and the other for you.

“Special delivery,” he sang softly, cautiously approaching your desk with over-filled mugs of hot liquid in each hand. He had an eye on the cups and another on the path ahead, terrified he was about to spill scalding coffee over both his hands.

“Oh, shit,” you said under your breath, sitting upright as you saw him coming. “I wish you’d asked, I already have one.” You regretfully held up a mug, still mostly full with coffee.

Spencer paused right in his tracks. He never had to ask if you wanted coffee. He just always brought it out, and you always took it without question. You also never bothered to make it yourself, because it was an unspoken agreement that Spencer would inevitably make it for the both of you.

So where did that cup come from?

“I didn’t realize you had some already.” He furrowed his brows, not sure what to do with the extra mug now. He even poured yours in the favorite mug that the two of you often fought over because he was in an extra nice mood. It was a pale blue and had tiny brown dachshunds all over, donning yellow raincoats, and sneakers just like Spencer’s.

“Sorry, angelface,” you pouted back. He looked so disappointed as he turned away, no doubt to go right back to the kitchen and toss your beverage down the sink, and you quickly called out, “Wait, no! Leave it, I’ll drink it.”

Screw it, you’ll take the jitters and a night of bad sleep if it meant Spencer wouldn’t feel so bad. He was instantly happier, smiling at you as he walked back to place the mug at your desk, slyly shoving the other cup aside so that his took the priority placement.

“By the way, you know you can just ask me when you want coffee, right? You don’t have to wait until I want one, or make it yourself.”

“I know,” you smiled. “Luke made extra, so he brought me one.”

Spencer’s lip tightened just a little, brows a centimeter higher on his forehead now. “Oh? Luke did, hm…” he mumbled, perhaps a bit snarkily, as he picked up the mug Luke made. “That was nice of him, but I guess you don’t need this now, anyways, it’s probably cold now and this new one’s much fresher.”

You chuckled softly and didn’t bother correcting him on the fact that Luke’s mug was very much still warm, and that you were still enjoying it. “Sure, Spence. Whatever you say.”

_

The coffee incident rolled right off Spencer’s back by the next morning.

Even he could recognize that his reaction may have been a bit childish. After all, it was only Luke’s second week with the unit, and he was just trying to make some new friends. Spencer figured that there really was no better person to know, nor easier one to befriend, than you, so he couldn’t blame Luke for trying.

That clarity lasted until he walked into the bullpen and found a new reason to be annoyed.

As usual, you were waiting for him at his desk, perched atop the wood with the morning paper rolled up in your hand. But not as usual, you already had a mug of coffee placed next to you. He had the sneaking suspicion that this one was also made by none other than Luke Alvez.

“Good morning,” you chirped, giving Spencer a quick peck on the cheek as he walked around the desk and took a seat in his office chair.

He grumbled it back, taking the newspaper from your hands and unraveling it on his desk, ironing out the rolled edges with a little more irritation than he’d normally have. As he searched for his favorite pen, he noticed you were already halfway through your drink.

No doubt that was going to cut down the amount of time that you could use the excuse that you were ‘still fueling up’ to justify loitering at Spencer’s desk instead of working. He tried not to roll his eyes at that fact and got to work on his puzzle without much chit chat. The morning routine was already off, anyway.

“No coffee this morning?”

“You have it, already,” he pointed out.

“I meant for you. You’re not gonna have some?” That was incredibly abnormal for Spencer. You couldn’t recall even one morning where you didn’t see him down some form of caffeine.

Spencer shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t really feel a burning desire to make coffee when it was only going to be for himself. “Eh. Maybe later.”

“Okay,” you frowned. Quickly erasing it for a smile, you picked up the stopwatch and slung it around your neck. “Ready to start?”

You gave him a little countdown and he went off reading the clues. He was uncharacteristically slow at it, this time around. By ten past the hour, he was only three-quarters done with the puzzle. You could practically hear the way Hotch was going to yell at you if he saw you still not working by this point.

The lines between Spencer’s brows were prominent as he concentrated far too hard on the clues he couldn’t solve. Pressing your thumb right over the deep crease, you reminded him to un-scrunch and relax his face.

“It’s okay if you can’t solve it, sweet boy.”

Spencer sighed, putting down his pen in defeat and leaning back in his chair. ”I don’t know why I’m off my game today.”

“It’s alright, we all have those days.” You ruffled the top of his hair before hopping off his desk, collecting your long-empty mug and returning his stopwatch.

“Wait, where are you going?” Those worry lines you just chased off came right back to his face. “I can still finish it!”

“I know, Spence. I don’t doubt you,” you reassured, but it felt like you were already halfway to your desk anyway. Which was all the way across the bullpen, way too far from Spencer’s cubicle. “But I really have to start work before we get in trouble again.”

He curled his lips to the side. You were right, it was twenty past the hour, and there was no viable excuse for you to stay any longer. Damn that empty cup, and damn him for being too slow.

Spencer gave the crossword one last, cursory glance. The remaining words were cruelly obvious to him now. He didn’t find a point in writing them in and completing it now, so he opened up the bottom drawer of his desk and tossed the paper inside. The metal filing drawer reverberated with a loud clang as he kicked it shut with his foot.

“Hey, ouch!” From the next cubicle over, Derek was leaning back in his chair to make sure Spencer could see him covering his ears with both hands. “Pretty boy, what’s with the loud angry noises at nine in the morning?”

Spencer didn’t dignify him with a response, grumbling and inspecting the stack of manila folders on his desk instead. Derek got up from his seat, walked over to Spencer and slung one muscular arm over his shoulders when he realized.

“Ohhh, I think I get it,” he teased.

“Get what, Morgan?”

“You’re mad because you’re lonely without your little work wife,” he chuckled, jostling Spencer’s shoulders playfully. Maybe, he thought, if he shook Spencer hard enough, it would knock his brain into place.

“My what?” Spencer had never heard of that term before. Solely based on context clues, he understood Derek was implying some sort of intimate relationship between himself and you.

“Your work wife,” Derek repeated. “You know – a woman, with whom you work, and are closer to than most people. Whom you happen to love, in your case.”

Spencer rolled his eyes and shrugged Derek off his shoulders. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Derek put up both hands defensively, slowly backing away from the hothead in front of him.

It was one of those things that didn't need to be said in order to be true. Everyone just knew it and accepted it as a fact; Spencer was in love with you, and more than likely, you were in love with him. Work spouses was just a cute nickname for what was really going on.

He had just turned his shoulder back towards his own desk when Spencer called out.

“How are we different from you and Penelope!?” Spencer barked. Derek turned back on his heel, smirking at Spencer. “Aren’t you two ‘work spouses’?”

“We are, Reid,” he smiled, thinking about the picture he had on his desk as evidence. It was of him and Penelope, walking Derek’s dog in the park. The picture next to it was of the two of them, plus Derek’s new girlfriend Savannah who had recently earned the Garcia-Stamp-of-Approval, out to brunch together. “And I love her, too. But the difference is that you are in love with your work wife.”

Derek snickered as he left for good, leaving Spencer to ruminate on that thought for a while.

As many pictures of Penelope as Derek had on his desk, Spencer had a few more than that. And far more brow-raising ones, like one of you baking cookies at Spencer’s house. With flour on your nose and chocolate chip cookie batter on your hands, slowly feeding it to Spencer right off your fingers.

_

Speaking of feeding Spencer, every day he brought a neat ham and cheese sandwich to work in his sack lunch. He cut the crusts off himself and split the sandwich down the middle with a diagonal cut. While you were originally a rectangle-cut person, he was adamant that triangle-cuts were the best shape of sandwich, and eventually you came to agree.

You always brought a salad with all your favorite things that could pass as nutritious. Wild greens, arugula, shredded carrots, goat cheese, and roasted beets. You even made the vinaigrette yourself, and packed it into its own tiny to-go tupperware so it could be mixed into the salad fresh at lunchtime.

And every lunch break, Spencer gave you one half of his sandwich, and you shared with him half of your salad.

What you’d both come to realize is that lunch is so much better with both. It’s the perfect ratio of leafy greens to delicious bread and cheese, and lunch no longer felt complete with just one and not the other.

And then.

And then of course, Luke Alvez decided to take you out for lunch, as if he had no respect at all for the sanctity of homemade, sack lunches. Or any sort of respect for Spencer, given that he’d now ruined the man’s meal by taking away his rights to a salad.

Sometimes Spencer hated how nice you were. Most of the time, he loved it, except for when it conflicted with his own personal interests. Of course you accepted Luke’s offer, and so he was eating his whole sandwich all by himself.

The entire balance was off – had it always been so hard to eat whole sandwiches without getting exhausted by them? Two halves was too much. Too much bread, too much ham, and too much cheese all for one person. There was a significant lack of leaves, carrots, beets, and you.

If he had to be honest, that last item was the real thing lunch was lacking.

He didn’t miss the salad at all. In fact, he actually absolutely hated that salad.

He hated beets and how they always overtook the entire flavor of the whole god forsaken thing. It should’ve been a welcome reprieve to go one day out of hundreds to not eat them. For some reason, he never asked you to take them out. He pretended to love them, to love the salad that tasted like wet Earth, and forced himself to eat all of it every day.

Because if he said he loved it, he figured, then you would share with him half of your salad. So that he could give you half of his sandwich.

That was the routine. It was simple, but it was sacred.

Everything you had together seemed to be sacred until the introduction of one Luke Alvez. Spencer tried to like him, really – Luke was incredibly kind, even to Spencer, from day one. But the fact was that Luke now held all of your attention, and that was beginning to be inexcusable. He messed with a man’s lunch, and that was over the line.

Spencer wasn’t even lying to himself about it anymore. He was seething as he stared at your desk – the only empty one in the bullpen, besides Luke’s – and chewed away at his boring ham and disgusting cheese sandwich.

_

It was impossible to tell what the final straw was going to be, but Spencer knew he was running out of them.

He was eavesdropping on you and Luke in the kitchenette across the bullpen. Laughing together, as if no one could hear you. As if no one would very specifically tune in to the sound of your voice and deliberately refrain from making any noises, not even sounds of breathing, in order to hear what you were saying. You two were just rubbing it in his face, now.

“Come on,” Derek nudged Spencer’s shoulder, earning an annoyed gruff when his concentration on your voices broke. “You really gonna let him move in on your wife like that?”

Spencer clenched his teeth. He knew Derek was just egging him on, but he still didn’t like what he was hearing.

It was ridiculous, and he knew that, to expect that you were never going to be interested in other men. Not that Spencer assumed that you were interested in him, but still...

He just felt like there was an unspoken understanding between you two. That you both had all the companionship you needed in each other, even if it wasn’t romantic. He had to find out the hard way that you didn’t feel the same, if you really were interested in Luke after all. The real kicker of it all was that he had everything Luke had to offer – same job, same intelligence, not the same muscles but he compensated for it with the history he had with you. He thought that would’ve at least given him a competitive advantage.

Spencer watched as you leaned in to Luke, putting your hand on his upper arm and smiling. Right before Derek interrupted, he heard Luke offering to drive you home. By the look of this, you’d accepted it, as if you completely forgot that you promised Spencer you’d take the metro home with him after work.

Derek was still watching it go down, brows raised at Spencer. His question still stood.

“No, I’m not.” Spencer’s nostrils flared out as he slammed his mug down on his desk, liquid sloshing around inside and threatening to spill over. He stormed right into the kitchenette, immediately drawing attention as he stomped up.

“Hey, buddy!” He tried to make his yelling voice sound big and tough, but it came off squeaky and unintimidating. You could tell what he was going for, though. “That’s my wife!” With that statement, you were less sure what that was.

“I – excuse me?” Luke crossed his brows in confusion. You mirrored his expression.

Spencer shifted on his two feet, finger still pointed at Luke in an accusatory manner. He was less confident in his rage than he was before he got there; suddenly aware that his outburst was lacking in context. He knew now that he probably looked insane. It still didn’t stop him from doubling down on his tantrum.

“You heard me.” Spencer crossed his arms over his chest. Standing straighter, he came to the happy realization he was about an inch taller than Luke. Before he could make himself into even more of a fool, you waved your hand to Luke as an apology for this inexplicable outburst.

“Spencer, can I talk to you?” It was rhetorical. You wrapped a hand tight around his upper arm, tugging him down an empty hallway and away from the invasive eyes watching the scene he just caused.

You had no idea what got into him then, but the feeling bubbling in your stomach was unignorable. You’ve never seen him act like such a child, no, a downright brat, in public like that. Much less with you on the receiving end of it. It was quite frankly embarrassing, on top of how confusing it was that he was going around calling you his wife?

At the end of the hall, you had him cornered alone. Just the two of you under the dim fluorescents. He evaded all eye contact when you tried to look him in the eyes, knowing you’d find the truth too quickly if he gave you the chance.

“Are you alright?” you asked, squeezing his arm much softer now. You were planning on chewing him out for what he just did. Really, you were going to lay into him for causing a scene like that, which no doubt was sparking up some rumors behind your back.

But somehow, that anger dissipated the moment you got him alone. Make no mistake, you were not excusing his rude behavior. But that little part of you that was always concerned about Spencer – because with him, there was always more going on under the surface – was impossible to shut up.

“No,” he admitted. “No, I’m not. I haven’t seen you in days.” Your whole face softened. It was so hard to hold it against him when he was so sweet.

“Spencer, you see me every day,” you reasoned. He bowed his head and scoffed, placing his hand at the dip of your waist and pushing you away from him. It was going to suffocate him to be so close to you if you weren’t going to understand where he was coming from. But even a few inches further apart, his hand was still on your waist.

“Not really. It’s not the same. You barely have time for our puzzles. You’re always next to Luke on the jet now. You started skipping our lunches, and now, you’re ditching me for a ride home with him.”

His words made you flinch. You noticed it yourself that you started spending a lot of time with Luke, but had no idea all those little things you’d been doing had added up to affect Spencer in such a way. Of all people, you should’ve noticed him being upset.

“It’s fine, I want you to do whatever you want to. But I miss you,” he added.

The part he didn’t want to say is that he needed to know if you missed him back. He didn’t want to call that into question, even if he really wanted to hear it.

Cupping his cheek in your palm, you leaned in and put a small peck on the tip of his nose.

“I miss you too, angel.” You rubbed your thumb across his cheekbone, watching his face light up.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Tell you what,” you smiled, tucking his unruly waves behind his ear, “let's take the long way home tonight.”

Spencer grinned from ear to ear. His hand slipped from your waist down to the free hand at your side, squeezing your palms together tightly as you led the way out. You planned to walk all the way home with him to make up for all those minutes lost.

“You know, I’m glad you said you want me to hang out with Luke if I want to,” you smiled, holding Spencer’s hand as you walked down the street.

“Oh, yeah…” He avoided looking at you. He didn’t think that one through when he said it.

“I’m probably going to hang out with him a lot for a bit.”

Spencer focused hard on looking ahead, the road seeming blurrier now. Shit, he really didn’t think it through.

“That’s great. You should do that,” he lied through his teeth. Only you would’ve picked up on that edge in his voice.

“Yeah,” you smiled, noting his thinly veiled annoyance. You wanted to believe for a moment that it was because he was jealous. Because if he was, you could take that crumb and turn it into a feast - a silent declaration of his love that you secretly hoped he had for you. “Because he’s been asking for tons of advice on how to get closer to Penelope.”

Spencer’s ears perked up. “Penelope?”

“Mm-hmm. Seems he’s been smitten with her ever since he saw her,” you smiled harder. So long as you didn’t know any better, he reacted that way because he loved you the way you wanted him to. “Only issue is, she’s a tough one to crack. So coaching him on Penelope 101 has been taking a lot longer than I thought.”

–

It seemed to pay off. Those weeks of neglecting Spencer and inadvertently hurting your best friend produced at least one positive thing.

Luke learned everything he needed to know about Penelope. He won her over, slowly but surely, thanks to your insider information. Still, he needed a bit of a wingman, so the first time he tried to hang out with Penelope outside of work, he disguised it as a group thing.

He invited you, Penelope’s best friend, to a weekend lunch with him and Penelope. You of course brought along Spencer, and tried your best to ignore the fact it felt like a double date. It wasn’t. Luke was on a date with Penelope, which she didn’t know about, and you and Spencer were just there to play along. That’s it.

On another plus side, Spencer seemed to like Luke a whole lot more now.

Luke and Penelope were fictitiously bickering over the lunch options - Luke argued that a blueberry scone was perfectly appropriate to order, and Penelope maintained it was strictly a breakfast item. She settled on an order of soup, to split with Luke for half of his sandwich. Luke might’ve learned that trick from an observation around the office, which you were oblivious to.

Moments before the food arrived, you tapped Spencer’s thigh, asking him to scoot out of the booth so you could go to the bathroom.

“You always do this,” he said exasperatedly. “Every time the food gets here, you have to go.” Being the polite man he is, Spencer always had to wait until you got back to start eating his meal. The number of times he’d had cold food was just too much, now.

“Just start without me, then,” you shrugged. It was a bodily response you couldn’t help. Spencer rolled his eyes, a smile betraying it, and turned back to the table as you walked off to the nearest restroom.

Even though he hated waiting, hated the fact that he’d end up eating cold food, he waited for you to come back. With his hands folded in his lap, patiently sitting in front of his tempting plate of french toast that was rapidly getting colder by the second.

Penelope made a happy noise around a spoonful of her soup, then noticed Spencer hadn’t touched his plate yet.

“Spencer, do you want to try a bite of this? It’s delicious,” she offered, shoving her bowl to him. She knew he wouldn’t touch his own food, but hers was free territory.

“Oh, no thanks,” his nose crinkled when he inspected the contents of the soup. “I don’t like beets.”

Penelope shrugged and took the bowl back, thinking nothing of it.

“You don’t like beets?”

Spencer whipped his head around. You’d returned from the bathroom just in time to catch what he’d said. He felt like a deer caught in the headlights as you stood there gobsmacked. “Spencer, I’ve been feeding you beets for two years…”

He swallowed the air in his already dry throat. You slid into the booth beside him, cornering him against the wall with the saddest look on your face. Completely betrayed by his confession. “I don’t understand, you don’t like them?”

Penelope and Luke must’ve looked between your face and Spencer, because they’d slipped out of the booth unnoticed.

“Well, no. It’s not that I don’t like them,” he laughed nervously. Your eyes only looked more disappointed. “Okay, I don’t like them. Are you mad?”

Confused, yes. But definitely not mad. “Why would I be mad at you?” you laughed lightly.

“Because I lied to you?”

“Yeah, about beets,” you nudged his side, “Not about something serious.”

Spencer laughed softly, holding his side as if it hurt when you bumped him. In reality, he was just pretending he could still feel your pressure against him.

“The only thing I don’t get is why you didn’t just tell me you hate beets. I would've taken them out.”

Now that was a thought Spencer didn’t have before. He shrugged his shoulders. “I guess I was afraid that if I said I didn’t like your salad, you’d stop wanting to share lunches with me. And to be honest, that’s my favorite part of the day.”

Time stopped.

“You ate a food you hate… for two years… so that you could keep hanging out with me?”

If he was any less nervous, he might've been able to figure out how you felt about that based on your tone or body language. But he was useless in that regard, squirming in his seat.

“I-uh-well,” he stuttered, whipping his head between looking up at you and down at the table as his upper lip beaded with sweat.

You had to take the plunge.

“You make bad coffee,” you gasped. You couldn’t hold it in any longer. He was so confused.

He wasn’t trying to be mean when he said he didn’t like your salad – it was just the beets!. Were you trying to get back at him? “I didn’t mean to make it sound personal, I just really hate beets –”

“No. No, it’s not personal,” you laughed awkwardly, shifting in your seat because your nerves creeped up steadily. “Your coffee isn’t as good as I pretend it is. I only say it’s great so that you’ll bring me coffee every day.”

You paused to creep your hand down to his, shaking a little as you tried to hold it. Your fingers stopped short of his, needing him to be the one to bridge that gap. “It’s fine coffee. Just fine. I think I convinced myself I love it because I really love…”

You looked at him instead. Hopefully he knew the end of that sentence without you having to say so. Of course he knew. Because how could he be your work husband and not know you like the back of his palm. His pinky inched toward yours, resting gently on top of it in the quietest declaration of love.

It didn’t need to be said in order to be true. You loved Spencer Reid; and if his willingness to eat his most hated food for two years was any indication, he loved you back.

Your faces drifted together, both feeling infectious smiles pushing their way across your cheeks as you neared each other. Finally meeting in the middle in a kiss that made you regret not doing it sooner.

-

-

ok, hope you thought this was cute! i know it's such a *small* confession at the end, but i really wanted it to be ! driving home that point of, 'it doesnt need to be said in order to be true' lol.

thanks for being on my taglist <3 (tagging part two in a reblog). if your name is crossed out, tumblr won't let me tag you :(

if you wanna join, link is at the top here

"How long was Lou in the marines?" Derek asked the town sheriff.

"12 years," Sheriff Hallum provided. "He was discharged so he could raise Owen when Hope died."

Spencer hummed, running a finger along the framed photo of Lou in his old navy uniform, bringing it up to his eyes to examine. Not a speck of dust was on it. He kept it pristine.

"Is that why he resented them?" Spencer asked.

Hallum narrowed his eyes at Spencer, jutting his chin forward. Purposely or not, Spencer's comment was snarky and insensitive, seemingly forgetting that he was speaking to an old friend of the recently deceased. "Pardon me, son?"

"When his wife died, did Lou resent his family for ending his career in the marines?" Spencer repeated without a stutter, voice completely detached from the gravity of the situation. He raised his brows expectantly at the silence, already having his mind made up about Lou's character without even hearing an answer.

The sheriff squared his chest at Spencer, making himself taller; something that never actually worked in intimidating the young agent, but it was surely an attempt. Hotch was staring him down, too, though. Looking cautiously at where Spencer could be going with this attitude.

Be it the Texas heat getting to his head, or something under the surface, Spencer was stepping dangerously close to crossing some lines.

"Lou was a good man," Hallum defended.

"A good man who doesn't have a single photo of his dead wife or only son anywhere in his entire house."

"I know this is hard," Hotch apologized, cutting in to the conversation before Spencer had a chance to press further, "and if we had more time, we'd be more sensitive. But we don't."

Sheriff Hallum sighed, uncrossing his arms. What he'd told them so far was that Owen's mother died in a car accident involving a drunk driver. He didn't tell them the whole truth.

"Hope was the drunk driver that night. I kept it off the report for her family's sake, but... the whole town knew about her problem. But that doesn't mean Lou resented them."

Spencer quirked his mouth, pretending he didn't hear what the sheriff said. He found it hard to believe that Lou wasn't a bully in the end, he'd seen his type before. In his own father.

"Where's Owen's room?" Spencer asked. Hotch pointed him towards the stairs, satisfied just to get Spencer out of the room in order to diffuse the tension building up around him.

He gladly took the direction, shoving his hands into his pockets and bounding up the stairs. He turned the corner and walked down the hall where he saw an open door, presumably to Owen's bedroom.

Getting closer, Spencer paused outside the doorway. Through the gap, he could see Y/N already in there looking through Owen's things.

He didn't want to go inside. He hadn't spoken to Y/N since the night he drove her home from the bar.

After the way she yelled at him, Spencer couldn't find the strength to speak another singular word without risking losing his shit. It flared him up so much he couldn't explain. She seemed to sense it, too, by the way she shrank into her seat after her outburst. And after that, it was just seven minutes of hell - utter silence in watching street signs pass by until he finally pulled up to her street.

Even as Y/N quietly thanked him for bringing her home safely, pausing at the door as she got out of his car to give him a chance to respond, Spencer kept his eyes straight ahead on the road. Responding with only a passive nod before driving off.

He ignored her the next day at work, as well, and despite the fact that they never spoke much to begin with, his silence was so pointed that she could tell what he was doing. And it stretched into every day following it.

That was two weeks ago.

Spencer hadn't entered the room yet. He had the chance to just turn around and go back into the living room, pretend like he couldn't find Owen's room or just not even explain it to anyone at all. He was weighing his options, and leaving sounded fantastic...

"Did you find out anything good?" Y/N asked, turning to the door.

Damn. She saw him.

Spencer pursed his lips, annoyed. He knew he couldn't technically ignore her if it was a question pertaining to work. As much as he wanted to.

He tentatively stepped a foot inside, keeping his gaze stuck to the wall and making a point not to speak directly to her. "Gun safe was empty. Unsurprising."

"That's James Dean's porsche..." Y/N's eyes followed to where Spencer was looking. It was a poster of an overturned car, in complete wreckage that it was almost unrecognizable, and it was tacked in such plain sight that it could be seen from any point of the room.

"If my mom died in a car accident, you wouldn't find that on my wall," he muttered under his breath, chuckling humorlessly. "You check his computer yet, or not?"

Ignoring the way Spencer spat words at her, Y/N roller her eyes. If anyone ought to be annoyed here, she thought it should be her.

"It's password protected. Smart move when your dad's a cop."

Spencer scoffed, opening the door to Owen's closet and peeking inside. "Assuming he cares enough to snoop."

Just as she opened her mouth to question him, there was screaming coming from outside, and everyone in the house filed out onto the front lawn to see what it was all about.

The wife of the other dead cop was going off on Sheriff Hallum, demanding that he find Owen and "do what's right". In a town like this one, the team could only assume what sort of awful things that meant - she wasn't asking that they bring Owen in alive.

That told them one thing. That they needed to act fast and find Owen before the other residents in town started talking, or else they'd have a mob on their hands.

"Y/N, I need you to go to the school and talk to Owen's teachers and peers. Use whatever you've gained from his room to find more about him, I want to know what kind of student he was," Hotch directed, springing into immediate action.

She nodded, catching the keys as Derek tossed them her way and heading straight for the car, when Hotch tacked on, "And take Reid with you! We need all hands, get this profile done immediately."

Her shoulders dropped. Equally, Spencer looked less-than-thrilled about this decision.

"Hotch, I think it would be better if you went, and I helped Derek look through the house."

Y/N laughed bitterly to herself, overhearing Spencer's pathetic plea bargain all the way from the car.

"Derek and I are staying here to work the room, you have some insight on this kid. Use it," Hotch shot him down.

Not a moment later, Spencer was angrily stomping his way over, slamming the door shut behind himself. Y/N rolled her eyes, getting into the driver's seat and heading for the school.

-

Spencer only got more on edge as they talked to the school. It was warranted, given everything they were uncovering.

They spoke to Owen's counselor to find out that he had started dating a girl - Jordan Norris - who he met through some Special Education courses he was placed into during his junior year. Which, by all measures, was quite late to be placed into special ed. But the counselor admitted it wasn't for academic reasons. Owen had been placed there for displaying behavioral issues.

Spencer could tell that it wasn't the case, though, just by looking at a file with Owen's transcripts. The pattern he found in Owen's grades - which classes he was succeeding in versus which ones he struggled in - made it so clear to Spencer that Owen was more than smart.

He scoffed at the counselor's assessment of Owen, shoving the file into his hand to show him the scores. "The problem wasn't bad attitude or lack of effort. These grades are consisted with a brilliant and advanced kid with some form of learning disability."

"Our standardized tests don't have evidence to support him having that level of intelligence," he shrugged him off.

"Look at his score in geometry! Owen probably had trouble with spacial awareness. He couldn't fill in a bubble any easier than he could, I don't know, hit a baseball?"

Y/N folded her arms over her chest, watching Spencer carefully as his voice started getting louder. "Did Owen stay away from sports?" she asked to distract the two from their staring at one another.

"Sports was a sore spot with his father. Owen joined the wrestling team to appease his old man, but... it didn't turn out so well."

"No?" she questioned, brows pulled tightly. "What happened?" Before she could get her answer, the phone at the front desk rang. The counselor held up a finger, excusing himself to answer it for a moment. While he had his back turned to the agents, her eyes flicked to Spencer.

Something about him was just off. He was visibly fuming, pacing back and forth in small lines inside the office and muttering angrily under his breath. At first, Y/N assumed his bad attitude might've just been a special treat just for her, but it wasn't this time. He was getting short with everyone, put on edge so easily with this case.

"The whole time..." he scoffed. "The whole time, Owen was probably the smartest kid in his class. He just couldn't prove it."

"So?" she shrugged in confusion.

"So! So, being the smartest kid in class is like being the only kid in class. Owen missed out on everything in school, the whole experience. He probably gave it everything he had, over and over again just so he could continue to fail because nobody could tell he was a little different from the rest," he barked.

She didn't know what else to say, other than nothing. It was easy to tell by the way his face turned red, and the hurt behind his voice, that Spencer was speaking from some form of experience on that. She imagined him in exactly Owen's shoes.

But his rant was beginning to draw attention; the other ladies in the shared office space were starting to whisper to one another their speculation of why there were two FBI agents in the building, and why they may be interested in learning about a particularly troubled student. With school shootings being a harrowing, but popular topic in media, they couldn't let them spin for too long. Their chatter had to stop now if they hoped to get any control over the story that got out to the public.

"Reid," Y/N warned, trying to stop Spencer.

"He didn't get any help, all the got was blame. The whole time they were telling him it was his fault! His!"

"Reid," she repeated firmly, raising her voice. Finally, she had to grab his arm, fingers digging into his bicep with bruising force in order to snap him out of this motorized pacing he was stuck in. "An undiagnosed learning disability does not lead to this level of violence... you know that."

Spencer froze.

She realized only then, after Spencer's face briefly flashed into something painful, how much of himself Spencer was really finding within Owen. They weren't exactly the same but... there was enough that Spencer could relate to, and it was hurting him to see it. Especially when this was all leading to him knowing that Owen was the bad guy they were after.

She couldn't imagine what that must be like.

But he was saved when Y/N's phone rang; it was Derek, sending over a video that Garcia recovered from Owen's computer, with a message that it was urgent for them to watch.

Y/N had the school counselor pull it up on one of the computers. It looked like it was taken a few years ago. Owen and some boys - which were identified as other kids on the wrestling team - were in the boy's locker room. Owen had just gotten out of the shower, and the boys had him surrounded. They were coercing him to get naked, and masturbate in front of them, in the name of a 'team bonding ritual' that was expected of a new teammate. Which was bad enough in itself.... but Owen didn't know that they were recording it.

"Did Owen tell anyone about this," Spencer spat.

"He didn't have to," the man sighed. "It was posted to the school's networking site. We took it down immediately."

"And what did the school do to punish the other boys?" she asked, though she felt like she already knew. Otherwise, they wouldn't be standing there.

The man squirmed in his seat, already going on the defense. "Owen identified them, but on the tape all we have is their voices. It was his word against theirs. There was nothing we could do."

"He didn't know he was being filmed!" Spencer shouted. Y/N tapped his shoulder hard, letting him know he needed to calm down. Though she couldn't say she exactly disagreed with his reaction. And what the counselor said next made it even worse.

"Look, teenage boys have a way of sorting these things out for themselves."

Spencer laughed, dripping with bitterness. "They sure do. Right now, Owen's out there sorting things out with an assault rifle."

"Reid!" she gasped, arms falling to her side in utter shock. Spencer wasn't even fazed by what he'd just said. "Go outside. Now."

He rolled his eyes, knowing he didn't have to take her direction. But he couldn't stand to be there any longer, so he just turned to the counselor with a shit-eating grin, casually knocked over a stack of files on his desk, and walked calmly out of the office.

Y/N scoffed at his behavior, shaking her head at the back of his head as he left. "I apologize for his behavior," she said, picking up the papers Spencer knocked over. The man placed his hands on his hips, laughing dryly like he'd somehow been absolved of all guilt in light of Spencer's childishness. So, she added, "But while it was inappropriate, Dr. Reid's reaction isn't without reason. We've heard those phrases before. When we interview school shooters."

With emphasis on the last bit, the counselor finally seemed to understand the gravity of the situation. And it wasn't technically in defense of Spencer, so much as pointing out what needed to be said.

"If you'll excuse me, I think we've gathered all that we need today. Thank you for your time," she smiled stiffly, exiting straight through the double doors of the office which Spencer left through just moments ago.

She stormed right past him in the hallway, not looking back at him as she barked orders. "Get in the car."

-

Y/N didn't know how to begin to speak to Spencer. Putting aside their personal shit, the way he was acting during the case was downright concerning. And she wasn't equipped for that.

Spencer was allowed to have a few things get to him - hell, no one could do the job any other way - but the way he was handling the case was flat out unacceptable. Raising his voice at others and saying wildly inappropriate things?

She overheard what he said to the sheriff back at the Savage house, and now this... clearly, Spencer didn't have the necessary skills it took to compartmentalize his feelings. And soon enough, that was bound to become an impetus to their case. so what she did felt like the right choice.

As soon as they got to the station, she found Hotch and pulled him aside.

"Hotch, you need to have Reid sit this out," she said. Hotch scrunched his brows, not immediately disagreeing. "He practically bit off the head of the school counselor, and he keeps pissing everyone off. It's going to be hard getting these people to trust us to do our job if they think we're here to blame them."

"I know that, but so far he's still being productive," Hotch shrugged. Even he looked like he didn't buy that.

"But you can tell, this case is clearly striking close to home for him in some shape or form," she pressed on, refusing to stop there. "I think he needs to quit while he's ahead... Before it gets worse."

Hotch raised a brow. Not only was it a shock to see her talking like this, but that statement left more discussion to be had. "Worse for him, or for us?"

"Both."

He simply nodded, brushing it aside once Derek peeked his head into the hall and motioned for the two to join him in the conference room for the briefing. "We can discuss this after we deliver the profile. Right now, our only concern should be finding Owen Savage."

He held open the door for Y/N, walking in behind her only to find Spencer already in there arguing with a few of their cops. They'd just caught the tail end of the discussion.

One smart-assed cop challenged him smugly, "So if Owen fits the profile of a school shooter, why hasn't he hit the school yet?"

"Because of Jordan," Emily provided. "Jordan gives him a reason to live."

"Otherwise, he's a textbook case. His classmates bullied him, his teachers gave up on him, his father neglected him. Given these conditions, you're actually quite fortunate," Spencer recited, matter-of-factly.

"It sounds like you're saying these victims deserved it," the cop sneered, rising out of his seat. It was effortless the way Spencer managed to provoke him.

"We're not. No one deserves this," Hotch cut in, putting his hand over Spencer's chest and pushing him subtly out of the way of the angry cop.

Spencer couldn't help himself, though. He knew he was flying too close to the sun, but he kept pushing it. "But you could've prevented it."

That was the final straw. "Reid, I need to see you outside."

Y/N watched them through the tiny rectangular window on the door as they stepped into the hall. She couldn't hear what was being said - it was drowned out by Emily taking control and delivering the profile - but she could see Spencer's face. And from that, she knew exactly what was going on. Hotch was taking her advice after all.

Spencer was clearly upset. His lips were curled up as he argued back and forth, brows creased heavily down the center.

"It's true, they could've done something!" he yelled to nowhere; Hotch ignored him completely. He had no interest in entertaining him when they were working against a deadline.

"I want you to go back to the house and go through Owen's room."

"Morgan's already doing that."

"And you're going to help him."

"What, you're punishing me?!"

"No," Hotch snapped, "I'm using you."

Spencer shook his head, scoffing like he couldn't believe it. In the split of a second, his eyes flicked back into the room, catching Y/N's eyes by mistake. And then it clicked.

A small shiver ran down her spine when Spencer shot her this deathly glare. He figured it out that she'd said something to Hotch. She thought he hated her before, but that look he gave her then? That one was new. It was worse.

-

The team regrouped early the next morning. Derek and Spencer managed to learn a few things about Owen after looking through his computer the night before. In his emails, he repeatedly emphasized his need to say goodbye to Jordan in every exchange, from which they gathered he had abandonment issues. Spencer backed the theory up by recalling the poster he and Y/N found in his room - he must've resented his mother for not saying goodbye when she died.

Which is exactly why Owen wanted to be with Jordan. He figured she wouldn't ever leave him.

So the team knew now that all they needed was to take Jordan away from him. He'd lose his reason to live; he'd end up messing up and somehow revealing himself, making it easy for the team to bring him in. They just needed to find a way to get through to Jordan to make it happen.

Emily went back to speak to one of Jordan's friends to gain access to a chat room they frequented. Hoping against all odds that Jordan's personal phone wasn't disabled, Emily sent a message about everything Owen was keeping from her. About killing her dad, the bomb, the teenage boys. Everything.

Jordan saw it, but she didn't believe any of it. She said Owen would never hurt anyone. Even after Emily sent her an article with all the proof she could ever need, Jordan called her a liar and logged off the chat in a hurry.

But moments later, another message came through.

You turned her against me.

Emily knew right away that it had to have been Owen. She called the team immediately, worried she just jeopardized Jordan's life while trying to save it. Luckily, Garcia was able to pull a trace; the moment Jordan logged onto the chat, it activated her location tracking and sent a signal that Owen didn't think ahead to block. If she hadn't gotten Jordan to respond, they wouldn't have found them. That was what Emily kept reminding herself of as the team sped out to the location.

Hotch, Rossi, Derek and Spencer all raced out to where Garcia pinned the signal: Stratman's Ranch. When they arrived at the scene, there was no one there. Only signs that Owen and Jordan had been there at some point.

But they found a note, written by Owen.

I'm going to return my mother's necklace.

"It could be at his house, we didn't find a necklace there but we may have missed it," Hotch thought, turning the note over. "Sheriff, you and your men go there."

"Ok, and you?" Hallum asked.

"Where's his mother buried?"

There was only one cemetery in town. That's where Hotch was planning on heading. As the team packed into the car, Spencer started undoing his kevlar.

"What're you doing?" Hotch looked concerned, unwillingly taking the vest as Spencer took it off and shoved it into the unit chief's hands.

"He's gonna force us to kill him, I-" Spencer choked, "I don't need to be part of that. I'll see you back at the station."

-

"It was the right thing to do, Emily," Y/N reassured the agent. While the men were searching the ranch, the two had stayed back at the station to wait on any developments.

"I just really thought we could save her." Her voice was heavy with guilty.

"Emily -"

"I know. We had to do it, but I still -"

"No, look." Emily turned where Y/N was pointing. Jordan had just come through the front door of the station, looking like a complete wreck in sweat and tears.

The poor girl was in shock. She couldn't stop shaking, even after the agents led her to a room where she could sit and process in private. Emily had barely gotten Jordan to calm down when Spencer came bursting through to the conference room where Jordan was.

"They think he's going to his mother's grave," he said urgently. Y/N watching him with confusion as he came in, ripping a photo of Hope Savage off of the evidence board.

"Isn't he?"

Spencer had no time for questions, too spurred on in following his hunch to think of anything else. "Jordan, did Owen give you this necklace?" He crouched in front of the sobbing girl, pointing to the silver nameplate necklace hung around Hope's neck in the photograph.

Jordan nodded. "I - I left it at the ranch."

Spencer bit his lip, standing and walking out of the room with the same sense of urgency as when he came in. "He's coming here."

"What do you mean?" Y/N followed, hot on his trail.

"Owen said he needed to return his mother's necklace, he meant return it to Jordan." Spencer continued walking, heading right out of the station. He looked left and right, up and down the street expectantly.

"How do you know he's coming here?"

"It's what I would do," he said without missing a beat.

Sure enough, Spencer knew Owen. The kid drove right to the end of the street, climbing out of his truck armed with a rifle as he walked toward the station.

"Cover me," Spencer rushed, handing Y/N his gun.

"What!? You don't even have a vest - Reid! REID!" she yelled at the top of her lungs, to no avail as Spencer continued walking toward Owen without a second thought.

"Owen, I don't have a gun! My name is Spencer, I'm with the FBI, and I'm here to help you," he calmly recited, arms up in front of him. As expected, Owen ignored him and charged ahead. Spencer pleaded, "Please, Owen, you know what they'll do to you if you go in there."

Owen's feet came to a grinding halt. Instead, he poised his gun. "I need you to stay back!"

Spencer didn't listen. He took another step closer, pressing his case. "I know you only joined the wrestling team to please your father. And I know he blamed you for everything. I also know that the only reason you killed some of those people was to protect Jordan."

Hotch, Rossi, and Derek arrived on the scene not a moment too soon, swerving to a halt at the end of the road behind Spencer.

"What is he doing!?" Derek yelled as they got out of the car, firearms already positioned towards Owen without a clear shot.

Y/N, standing somewhere between Spencer and the rest of the team, could see it. He was blocking their shot on purpose.

"Hotch, I need you to stand back, okay?" she said through their earpiece. Spencer had his out, but she was close enough within earshot to hear what he was saying to Owen.

"I know that the harder you tried, the worse it got. And it felt like everybody just stood there and watched you suffer. Not a single person even tried to help," Spencer breathed, voice full of hurt.

"They didn't," Owen whispered back in a sob.

"Y/N, tell him to move!" Derek ordered. She shook her head no.

"Hotch, I told you I need you to stand down. Don't take the shot," she warned. She knew they could find one if they tried, something non-fatal. But the way the two were speaking to each other... it was too heavy. She knew they couldn't hurt this kid, how much Spencer needed them not to.

"I know you want to escape, and forget... Believe me when I say, I know - I know exactly how that feels. But you don't have to die."

"I'm already dead," Owen laughed.

"No, you're not Owen. If you die, you'll leave Jordan and I know you don't want that. If you put the gun down, I swear, I'll take you to her." Spencer was begging, just a couple feet away from Owen now. If he could step just a little closer, he could probably take the gun from Owen himself. Diffuse the whole situation and get this kid out of there alive.

Sirens were getting louder.

Behind Owen, two cop cars were pulling up.

"Please, Owen!" Spencer yelled in hopes of distracting him from what was happening behind him. Scaring him now would ruin everything Spencer was working for.

"Hotch, tell them to stand down!" Y/N yelled, trying to flag the cops down as they got out of their cars.

Panicked tears were coming into Spencer's eyes. "I promise, nobody will hurt you -"

Bang.

Owen fell to the ground.

Spencer did too, crumpling to his knees as the boy in front of him started to bleed out.

"Please," Spencer sobbed, pushing his hands over the gunshot wound on Owen's leg. Y/N ran over, offering another pair of hands to apply pressure to the wound. Spencer handed her his tie, using it around Owen's thigh to stop the bleeding. While Y/N held it down, Spencer cupped Owen's face, tapping his cheek to keep the boy awake. "Owen, stay with us!"

His fingers twitched. He was trying to go into his jacket pocket.

Spencer reached into Owen's pocket, fishing out what it was Owen was looking for. His mother's necklace.

"I trust you," Owen mumbled, eyes barely open. "I want... you to give it to Jordan."

Spencer nodded, tears spilling down his cheeks as he wrapped his fist around the silver necklace. "I'm so sorry..."

Owen smiled softly at him, feeling his strength start to slip. Still, he had it in him to say it was okay. "It's better this way. I'd leave her... in prison or in death, in the end. This way, I won't have to see it happen."

Y/N stepped away to let the paramedics through as they arrived on the scene, but Spencer stayed put. He didn't leave Owen's side until he was absolutely forced to, fingers clenched tightly over the necklace he was entrusted with.

-

With heavy eyelids and heavier footsteps, Y/N dragged herself back to her hotel room for the evening. Walking with two fingertips touching the wall, tracing the length of the corridor as a safety precaution in case she got too tired to stand up on her own. The day was exhausting, but her reprieve was near. She was almost to her room when she heard it.

Sobbing.

The unmistakable sound of wet sniffling and shaky breaths coming from just behind the corner where the hallway bent. There were only two rooms back there - hers, and the person she least wanted to find on the other side.

He must've heard her coming, anyways. Next thing she heard was a door opening and with a loud, resounding noise, quickly falling shut. She peeked an eye around the bend. The tiny alcove was empty.

Y/N was stuck on what to do next.

If she went into her room, opposite of his, he'd definitely hear her. And then, there'd be no plausible deniability that she'd heard him crying. And she didn't know which of the following two outcomes would be worse, in his eyes: knowing that the person he hates most heard him crying, or, that yet another teammate saw him at his worst and didn't care to do anything about it.

Both outcomes seemed bad. So she gave it three minutes before sneaking into her room as quietly as possible.

It wasn't her place to talk to him anyways. That was what Penelope was for, and if Spencer really needed something, he'd go to her. Probably.

That's what Y/N told herself as she shed off the blood sodden clothes from the day, climbing into the hot stream of her shower to forget it all.

And it was forgotten. Until she came out of the shower, tossing her ruined clothing straight into the garbage, and remembered everything that brought about the noises she'd heard earlier. For a flash of a second, she pictured him now, crying in his room without any reservations now that he was in private.

Would he even sleep tonight? Or worse - would he do something even more damaging to himself than just cry?

Forget it.

Y/N climbed into bed, knocking aside the extra pillows that felt too comforting on days like this one. Turning off the bedside lamp she shut her eyes and tried to put it out of her mind. Spencer wouldn't want her to think about his personal life. Yes, she was part of the team, but she wasn't part of his.

It wasn't her place to speculate.

She laid there for all of two minutes before the guilt bit at her too hard.

"Fuck!" she groaned into the dark, angrily tossing the duvet to the floor as she got up. The words Spencer had said to Owen wouldn't stop ringing in her ears. About people standing by and watching as he struggled; about wanting to escape.

She knew he was talking about himself. And she might not have known Spencer back then, back when all of the stuff with Hankel happened, but she was here now, and that meant she was responsible for now.

All of that momentum stopped shy of Spencer's door.

She paused right outside, thinking it over one more time if she should really bother. He was probably asleep anyways...

Fuck it. She was already here. She placed three timid knocks on the wood, and waited. Ten seconds passed and she placed a final knock, just for good measure. Even if nothing happened, she could now say she tried.

Shrugging to herself, she turned away to go to her own room. Just then the door opened.

Spencer looked weak. His hair was tousled all around his face - one that was puffy, and bloated, and sunken all at once.

"What do you need," he croaked. She could hardly register it when she saw him. His eyes were darker underneath than they normally are, with crimson taking over the whites in them.

"Nothing, um. I -" she shifted on her feet, thinking if she should ask to come in or not. Spencer made no effort to provide her the space to slip in, so she decided against asking. "I came to check if you were alright."

His irritated, red nose scrunched up. "Why are you checking on me?"

"Well, today was a lot... and I heard you crying, so..."

"No. Why are you checking on me?" His lips thinned into a line. "You're the one who said we don't do that."

Her throat tightened. This was an extension of an olive branch - a special and temporary offer given the circumstances - and he was throwing it in her face. A spark of fury warmed in her belly.

"That was different, Reid."

"You should've just sent someone else, if you were really worried." His face looked hard as stone, and just as cold.

"Well nobody else saw you, so it was on me." Besides, she could bet he wouldn't enjoy it much if she went and snitched on him to the others, either. So him being mad right now made no sense.

"Then you might as well not have come at all," Spencer laughed dryly. "You're the last person I'd turn to if I needed someone."

Y/N didn't get a chance to respond before the door was shutting on her face.

Her fingers curled into a fist, poising it to pound hard against the wood as a final fuck you.

Of course he'd be snippy, rude, and ungrateful. Of course.

But also, he was right. If she was being honest, she couldn't say she'd turn to him, either.

Her fist dropped back to her side, fingers relaxing. "That's fair," she mumbled quietly. "Well, um. If you need anything, I'll be across the hall. Don't do anything stupid."

-

She was asleep for an hour when the banging on her door woke her up. She knew right away who it was, and while she wasn't thrilled to be woken up in the middle of the night - especially by him - she also expected he might end up needing to talk.

"Did you change your mind?" she yawned, opening the door.

In lieu of response, Spencer shoved himself inside, shutting the door behind himself. Turning around, he stepped closer and closer, backing her up until she was against the door. Immediately, his mouth went for hers, both hands resting flat against the wood on either side of her head.

Her fingers pulled at his collar. The kiss lasted mere seconds before she used it to pull him off.

"What the fuck are you doing -"

"You said to come if I needed anything," he mumbled, lips now against her neck as he trailed down her throat in open-mouthed kisses. Her hand slid to the front of his chest, holding him just below his neck. Giving it a slight push, he stopped, raising his head to look at her.

"Yeah, like to talk!"

Spencer removed one hand from the wall, bringing it to the outside of her knee. He breathed into her ear, lips skimming her lobe. Slowly, his fingers traced up the length of her bare thigh, stopping only when his knuckle grazed against the hem of her cotton shorts.

"I don't need to talk," he sighed, hot breath fanning over her neck. "I need a distraction."

The gap between their lips closed once more. This time, she opened her mouth, letting him slip his tongue past her lips as she hooked an arm around his neck. His lips tasted of saltwater. His hands spread across each of her hips, bringing her closer to him. He squeezed them tightly as he tugger her away from the wall, guiding her backwards into the room.

-

-

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if your name is crossed out, tumblr won't let me tag you! part two of my taglist will be tagged separately <3

"How long was Lou in the marines?" Derek asked the town sheriff.

"12 years," Sheriff Hallum provided. "He was discharged so he could raise Owen when Hope died."

Spencer hummed, running a finger along the framed photo of Lou in his old navy uniform, bringing it up to his eyes to examine. Not a speck of dust was on it. He kept it pristine.

"Is that why he resented them?" Spencer asked.

Hallum narrowed his eyes at Spencer, jutting his chin forward. Purposely or not, Spencer's comment was snarky and insensitive, seemingly forgetting that he was speaking to an old friend of the recently deceased. "Pardon me, son?"

"When his wife died, did Lou resent his family for ending his career in the marines?" Spencer repeated without a stutter, voice completely detached from the gravity of the situation. He raised his brows expectantly at the silence, already having his mind made up about Lou's character without even hearing an answer.

The sheriff squared his chest at Spencer, making himself taller; something that never actually worked in intimidating the young agent, but it was surely an attempt. Hotch was staring him down, too, though. Looking cautiously at where Spencer could be going with this attitude.

Be it the Texas heat getting to his head, or something under the surface, Spencer was stepping dangerously close to crossing some lines.

"Lou was a good man," Hallum defended.

"A good man who doesn't have a single photo of his dead wife or only son anywhere in his entire house."

"I know this is hard," Hotch apologized, cutting in to the conversation before Spencer had a chance to press further, "and if we had more time, we'd be more sensitive. But we don't."

Sheriff Hallum sighed, uncrossing his arms. What he'd told them so far was that Owen's mother died in a car accident involving a drunk driver. He didn't tell them the whole truth.

"Hope was the drunk driver that night. I kept it off the report for her family's sake, but... the whole town knew about her problem. But that doesn't mean Lou resented them."

Spencer quirked his mouth, pretending he didn't hear what the sheriff said. He found it hard to believe that Lou wasn't a bully in the end, he'd seen his type before. In his own father.

"Where's Owen's room?" Spencer asked. Hotch pointed him towards the stairs, satisfied just to get Spencer out of the room in order to diffuse the tension building up around him.

He gladly took the direction, shoving his hands into his pockets and bounding up the stairs. He turned the corner and walked down the hall where he saw an open door, presumably to Owen's bedroom.

Getting closer, Spencer paused outside the doorway. Through the gap, he could see Y/N already in there looking through Owen's things.

He didn't want to go inside. He hadn't spoken to Y/N since the night he drove her home from the bar.

After the way she yelled at him, Spencer couldn't find the strength to speak another singular word without risking losing his shit. It flared him up so much he couldn't explain. She seemed to sense it, too, by the way she shrank into her seat after her outburst. And after that, it was just seven minutes of hell - utter silence in watching street signs pass by until he finally pulled up to her street.

Even as Y/N quietly thanked him for bringing her home safely, pausing at the door as she got out of his car to give him a chance to respond, Spencer kept his eyes straight ahead on the road. Responding with only a passive nod before driving off.

He ignored her the next day at work, as well, and despite the fact that they never spoke much to begin with, his silence was so pointed that she could tell what he was doing. And it stretched into every day following it.

That was two weeks ago.

Spencer hadn't entered the room yet. He had the chance to just turn around and go back into the living room, pretend like he couldn't find Owen's room or just not even explain it to anyone at all. He was weighing his options, and leaving sounded fantastic...

"Did you find out anything good?" Y/N asked, turning to the door.

Damn. She saw him.

Spencer pursed his lips, annoyed. He knew he couldn't technically ignore her if it was a question pertaining to work. As much as he wanted to.

He tentatively stepped a foot inside, keeping his gaze stuck to the wall and making a point not to speak directly to her. "Gun safe was empty. Unsurprising."

"That's James Dean's porsche..." Y/N's eyes followed to where Spencer was looking. It was a poster of an overturned car, in complete wreckage that it was almost unrecognizable, and it was tacked in such plain sight that it could be seen from any point of the room.

"If my mom died in a car accident, you wouldn't find that on my wall," he muttered under his breath, chuckling humorlessly. "You check his computer yet, or not?"

Ignoring the way Spencer spat words at her, Y/N roller her eyes. If anyone ought to be annoyed here, she thought it should be her.

"It's password protected. Smart move when your dad's a cop."

Spencer scoffed, opening the door to Owen's closet and peeking inside. "Assuming he cares enough to snoop."

Just as she opened her mouth to question him, there was screaming coming from outside, and everyone in the house filed out onto the front lawn to see what it was all about.

The wife of the other dead cop was going off on Sheriff Hallum, demanding that he find Owen and "do what's right". In a town like this one, the team could only assume what sort of awful things that meant - she wasn't asking that they bring Owen in alive.

That told them one thing. That they needed to act fast and find Owen before the other residents in town started talking, or else they'd have a mob on their hands.

"Y/N, I need you to go to the school and talk to Owen's teachers and peers. Use whatever you've gained from his room to find more about him, I want to know what kind of student he was," Hotch directed, springing into immediate action.

She nodded, catching the keys as Derek tossed them her way and heading straight for the car, when Hotch tacked on, "And take Reid with you! We need all hands, get this profile done immediately."

Her shoulders dropped. Equally, Spencer looked less-than-thrilled about this decision.

"Hotch, I think it would be better if you went, and I helped Derek look through the house."

Y/N laughed bitterly to herself, overhearing Spencer's pathetic plea bargain all the way from the car.

"Derek and I are staying here to work the room, you have some insight on this kid. Use it," Hotch shot him down.

Not a moment later, Spencer was angrily stomping his way over, slamming the door shut behind himself. Y/N rolled her eyes, getting into the driver's seat and heading for the school.

-

Spencer only got more on edge as they talked to the school. It was warranted, given everything they were uncovering.

They spoke to Owen's counselor to find out that he had started dating a girl - Jordan Norris - who he met through some Special Education courses he was placed into during his junior year. Which, by all measures, was quite late to be placed into special ed. But the counselor admitted it wasn't for academic reasons. Owen had been placed there for displaying behavioral issues.

Spencer could tell that it wasn't the case, though, just by looking at a file with Owen's transcripts. The pattern he found in Owen's grades - which classes he was succeeding in versus which ones he struggled in - made it so clear to Spencer that Owen was more than smart.

He scoffed at the counselor's assessment of Owen, shoving the file into his hand to show him the scores. "The problem wasn't bad attitude or lack of effort. These grades are consisted with a brilliant and advanced kid with some form of learning disability."

"Our standardized tests don't have evidence to support him having that level of intelligence," he shrugged him off.

"Look at his score in geometry! Owen probably had trouble with spacial awareness. He couldn't fill in a bubble any easier than he could, I don't know, hit a baseball?"

Y/N folded her arms over her chest, watching Spencer carefully as his voice started getting louder. "Did Owen stay away from sports?" she asked to distract the two from their staring at one another.

"Sports was a sore spot with his father. Owen joined the wrestling team to appease his old man, but... it didn't turn out so well."

"No?" she questioned, brows pulled tightly. "What happened?" Before she could get her answer, the phone at the front desk rang. The counselor held up a finger, excusing himself to answer it for a moment. While he had his back turned to the agents, her eyes flicked to Spencer.

Something about him was just off. He was visibly fuming, pacing back and forth in small lines inside the office and muttering angrily under his breath. At first, Y/N assumed his bad attitude might've just been a special treat just for her, but it wasn't this time. He was getting short with everyone, put on edge so easily with this case.

"The whole time..." he scoffed. "The whole time, Owen was probably the smartest kid in his class. He just couldn't prove it."

"So?" she shrugged in confusion.

"So! So, being the smartest kid in class is like being the only kid in class. Owen missed out on everything in school, the whole experience. He probably gave it everything he had, over and over again just so he could continue to fail because nobody could tell he was a little different from the rest," he barked.

She didn't know what else to say, other than nothing. It was easy to tell by the way his face turned red, and the hurt behind his voice, that Spencer was speaking from some form of experience on that. She imagined him in exactly Owen's shoes.

But his rant was beginning to draw attention; the other ladies in the shared office space were starting to whisper to one another their speculation of why there were two FBI agents in the building, and why they may be interested in learning about a particularly troubled student. With school shootings being a harrowing, but popular topic in media, they couldn't let them spin for too long. Their chatter had to stop now if they hoped to get any control over the story that got out to the public.

"Reid," Y/N warned, trying to stop Spencer.

"He didn't get any help, all the got was blame. The whole time they were telling him it was his fault! His!"

"Reid," she repeated firmly, raising her voice. Finally, she had to grab his arm, fingers digging into his bicep with bruising force in order to snap him out of this motorized pacing he was stuck in. "An undiagnosed learning disability does not lead to this level of violence... you know that."

Spencer froze.

She realized only then, after Spencer's face briefly flashed into something painful, how much of himself Spencer was really finding within Owen. They weren't exactly the same but... there was enough that Spencer could relate to, and it was hurting him to see it. Especially when this was all leading to him knowing that Owen was the bad guy they were after.

She couldn't imagine what that must be like.

But he was saved when Y/N's phone rang; it was Derek, sending over a video that Garcia recovered from Owen's computer, with a message that it was urgent for them to watch.

Y/N had the school counselor pull it up on one of the computers. It looked like it was taken a few years ago. Owen and some boys - which were identified as other kids on the wrestling team - were in the boy's locker room. Owen had just gotten out of the shower, and the boys had him surrounded. They were coercing him to get naked, and masturbate in front of them, in the name of a 'team bonding ritual' that was expected of a new teammate. Which was bad enough in itself.... but Owen didn't know that they were recording it.

"Did Owen tell anyone about this," Spencer spat.

"He didn't have to," the man sighed. "It was posted to the school's networking site. We took it down immediately."

"And what did the school do to punish the other boys?" she asked, though she felt like she already knew. Otherwise, they wouldn't be standing there.

The man squirmed in his seat, already going on the defense. "Owen identified them, but on the tape all we have is their voices. It was his word against theirs. There was nothing we could do."

"He didn't know he was being filmed!" Spencer shouted. Y/N tapped his shoulder hard, letting him know he needed to calm down. Though she couldn't say she exactly disagreed with his reaction. And what the counselor said next made it even worse.

"Look, teenage boys have a way of sorting these things out for themselves."

Spencer laughed, dripping with bitterness. "They sure do. Right now, Owen's out there sorting things out with an assault rifle."

"Reid!" she gasped, arms falling to her side in utter shock. Spencer wasn't even fazed by what he'd just said. "Go outside. Now."

He rolled his eyes, knowing he didn't have to take her direction. But he couldn't stand to be there any longer, so he just turned to the counselor with a shit-eating grin, casually knocked over a stack of files on his desk, and walked calmly out of the office.

Y/N scoffed at his behavior, shaking her head at the back of his head as he left. "I apologize for his behavior," she said, picking up the papers Spencer knocked over. The man placed his hands on his hips, laughing dryly like he'd somehow been absolved of all guilt in light of Spencer's childishness. So, she added, "But while it was inappropriate, Dr. Reid's reaction isn't without reason. We've heard those phrases before. When we interview school shooters."

With emphasis on the last bit, the counselor finally seemed to understand the gravity of the situation. And it wasn't technically in defense of Spencer, so much as pointing out what needed to be said.

"If you'll excuse me, I think we've gathered all that we need today. Thank you for your time," she smiled stiffly, exiting straight through the double doors of the office which Spencer left through just moments ago.

She stormed right past him in the hallway, not looking back at him as she barked orders. "Get in the car."

-

Y/N didn't know how to begin to speak to Spencer. Putting aside their personal shit, the way he was acting during the case was downright concerning. And she wasn't equipped for that.

Spencer was allowed to have a few things get to him - hell, no one could do the job any other way - but the way he was handling the case was flat out unacceptable. Raising his voice at others and saying wildly inappropriate things?

She overheard what he said to the sheriff back at the Savage house, and now this... clearly, Spencer didn't have the necessary skills it took to compartmentalize his feelings. And soon enough, that was bound to become an impetus to their case. so what she did felt like the right choice.

As soon as they got to the station, she found Hotch and pulled him aside.

"Hotch, you need to have Reid sit this out," she said. Hotch scrunched his brows, not immediately disagreeing. "He practically bit off the head of the school counselor, and he keeps pissing everyone off. It's going to be hard getting these people to trust us to do our job if they think we're here to blame them."

"I know that, but so far he's still being productive," Hotch shrugged. Even he looked like he didn't buy that.

"But you can tell, this case is clearly striking close to home for him in some shape or form," she pressed on, refusing to stop there. "I think he needs to quit while he's ahead... Before it gets worse."

Hotch raised a brow. Not only was it a shock to see her talking like this, but that statement left more discussion to be had. "Worse for him, or for us?"

"Both."

He simply nodded, brushing it aside once Derek peeked his head into the hall and motioned for the two to join him in the conference room for the briefing. "We can discuss this after we deliver the profile. Right now, our only concern should be finding Owen Savage."

He held open the door for Y/N, walking in behind her only to find Spencer already in there arguing with a few of their cops. They'd just caught the tail end of the discussion.

One smart-assed cop challenged him smugly, "So if Owen fits the profile of a school shooter, why hasn't he hit the school yet?"

"Because of Jordan," Emily provided. "Jordan gives him a reason to live."

"Otherwise, he's a textbook case. His classmates bullied him, his teachers gave up on him, his father neglected him. Given these conditions, you're actually quite fortunate," Spencer recited, matter-of-factly.

"It sounds like you're saying these victims deserved it," the cop sneered, rising out of his seat. It was effortless the way Spencer managed to provoke him.

"We're not. No one deserves this," Hotch cut in, putting his hand over Spencer's chest and pushing him subtly out of the way of the angry cop.

Spencer couldn't help himself, though. He knew he was flying too close to the sun, but he kept pushing it. "But you could've prevented it."

That was the final straw. "Reid, I need to see you outside."

Y/N watched them through the tiny rectangular window on the door as they stepped into the hall. She couldn't hear what was being said - it was drowned out by Emily taking control and delivering the profile - but she could see Spencer's face. And from that, she knew exactly what was going on. Hotch was taking her advice after all.

Spencer was clearly upset. His lips were curled up as he argued back and forth, brows creased heavily down the center.

"It's true, they could've done something!" he yelled to nowhere; Hotch ignored him completely. He had no interest in entertaining him when they were working against a deadline.

"I want you to go back to the house and go through Owen's room."

"Morgan's already doing that."

"And you're going to help him."

"What, you're punishing me?!"

"No," Hotch snapped, "I'm using you."

Spencer shook his head, scoffing like he couldn't believe it. In the split of a second, his eyes flicked back into the room, catching Y/N's eyes by mistake. And then it clicked.

A small shiver ran down her spine when Spencer shot her this deathly glare. He figured it out that she'd said something to Hotch. She thought he hated her before, but that look he gave her then? That one was new. It was worse.

-

The team regrouped early the next morning. Derek and Spencer managed to learn a few things about Owen after looking through his computer the night before. In his emails, he repeatedly emphasized his need to say goodbye to Jordan in every exchange, from which they gathered he had abandonment issues. Spencer backed the theory up by recalling the poster he and Y/N found in his room - he must've resented his mother for not saying goodbye when she died.

Which is exactly why Owen wanted to be with Jordan. He figured she wouldn't ever leave him.

So the team knew now that all they needed was to take Jordan away from him. He'd lose his reason to live; he'd end up messing up and somehow revealing himself, making it easy for the team to bring him in. They just needed to find a way to get through to Jordan to make it happen.

Emily went back to speak to one of Jordan's friends to gain access to a chat room they frequented. Hoping against all odds that Jordan's personal phone wasn't disabled, Emily sent a message about everything Owen was keeping from her. About killing her dad, the bomb, the teenage boys. Everything.

Jordan saw it, but she didn't believe any of it. She said Owen would never hurt anyone. Even after Emily sent her an article with all the proof she could ever need, Jordan called her a liar and logged off the chat in a hurry.

But moments later, another message came through.

You turned her against me.

Emily knew right away that it had to have been Owen. She called the team immediately, worried she just jeopardized Jordan's life while trying to save it. Luckily, Garcia was able to pull a trace; the moment Jordan logged onto the chat, it activated her location tracking and sent a signal that Owen didn't think ahead to block. If she hadn't gotten Jordan to respond, they wouldn't have found them. That was what Emily kept reminding herself of as the team sped out to the location.

Hotch, Rossi, Derek and Spencer all raced out to where Garcia pinned the signal: Stratman's Ranch. When they arrived at the scene, there was no one there. Only signs that Owen and Jordan had been there at some point.

But they found a note, written by Owen.

I'm going to return my mother's necklace.

"It could be at his house, we didn't find a necklace there but we may have missed it," Hotch thought, turning the note over. "Sheriff, you and your men go there."

"Ok, and you?" Hallum asked.

"Where's his mother buried?"

There was only one cemetery in town. That's where Hotch was planning on heading. As the team packed into the car, Spencer started undoing his kevlar.

"What're you doing?" Hotch looked concerned, unwillingly taking the vest as Spencer took it off and shoved it into the unit chief's hands.

"He's gonna force us to kill him, I-" Spencer choked, "I don't need to be part of that. I'll see you back at the station."

-

"It was the right thing to do, Emily," Y/N reassured the agent. While the men were searching the ranch, the two had stayed back at the station to wait on any developments.

"I just really thought we could save her." Her voice was heavy with guilty.

"Emily -"

"I know. We had to do it, but I still -"

"No, look." Emily turned where Y/N was pointing. Jordan had just come through the front door of the station, looking like a complete wreck in sweat and tears.

The poor girl was in shock. She couldn't stop shaking, even after the agents led her to a room where she could sit and process in private. Emily had barely gotten Jordan to calm down when Spencer came bursting through to the conference room where Jordan was.

"They think he's going to his mother's grave," he said urgently. Y/N watching him with confusion as he came in, ripping a photo of Hope Savage off of the evidence board.

"Isn't he?"

Spencer had no time for questions, too spurred on in following his hunch to think of anything else. "Jordan, did Owen give you this necklace?" He crouched in front of the sobbing girl, pointing to the silver nameplate necklace hung around Hope's neck in the photograph.

Jordan nodded. "I - I left it at the ranch."

Spencer bit his lip, standing and walking out of the room with the same sense of urgency as when he came in. "He's coming here."

"What do you mean?" Y/N followed, hot on his trail.

"Owen said he needed to return his mother's necklace, he meant return it to Jordan." Spencer continued walking, heading right out of the station. He looked left and right, up and down the street expectantly.

"How do you know he's coming here?"

"It's what I would do," he said without missing a beat.

Sure enough, Spencer knew Owen. The kid drove right to the end of the street, climbing out of his truck armed with a rifle as he walked toward the station.

"Cover me," Spencer rushed, handing Y/N his gun.

"What!? You don't even have a vest - Reid! REID!" she yelled at the top of her lungs, to no avail as Spencer continued walking toward Owen without a second thought.

"Owen, I don't have a gun! My name is Spencer, I'm with the FBI, and I'm here to help you," he calmly recited, arms up in front of him. As expected, Owen ignored him and charged ahead. Spencer pleaded, "Please, Owen, you know what they'll do to you if you go in there."

Owen's feet came to a grinding halt. Instead, he poised his gun. "I need you to stay back!"

Spencer didn't listen. He took another step closer, pressing his case. "I know you only joined the wrestling team to please your father. And I know he blamed you for everything. I also know that the only reason you killed some of those people was to protect Jordan."

Hotch, Rossi, and Derek arrived on the scene not a moment too soon, swerving to a halt at the end of the road behind Spencer.

"What is he doing!?" Derek yelled as they got out of the car, firearms already positioned towards Owen without a clear shot.

Y/N, standing somewhere between Spencer and the rest of the team, could see it. He was blocking their shot on purpose.

"Hotch, I need you to stand back, okay?" she said through their earpiece. Spencer had his out, but she was close enough within earshot to hear what he was saying to Owen.

"I know that the harder you tried, the worse it got. And it felt like everybody just stood there and watched you suffer. Not a single person even tried to help," Spencer breathed, voice full of hurt.

"They didn't," Owen whispered back in a sob.

"Y/N, tell him to move!" Derek ordered. She shook her head no.

"Hotch, I told you I need you to stand down. Don't take the shot," she warned. She knew they could find one if they tried, something non-fatal. But the way the two were speaking to each other... it was too heavy. She knew they couldn't hurt this kid, how much Spencer needed them not to.

"I know you want to escape, and forget... Believe me when I say, I know - I know exactly how that feels. But you don't have to die."

"I'm already dead," Owen laughed.

"No, you're not Owen. If you die, you'll leave Jordan and I know you don't want that. If you put the gun down, I swear, I'll take you to her." Spencer was begging, just a couple feet away from Owen now. If he could step just a little closer, he could probably take the gun from Owen himself. Diffuse the whole situation and get this kid out of there alive.

Sirens were getting louder.

Behind Owen, two cop cars were pulling up.

"Please, Owen!" Spencer yelled in hopes of distracting him from what was happening behind him. Scaring him now would ruin everything Spencer was working for.

"Hotch, tell them to stand down!" Y/N yelled, trying to flag the cops down as they got out of their cars.

Panicked tears were coming into Spencer's eyes. "I promise, nobody will hurt you -"

Bang.

Owen fell to the ground.

Spencer did too, crumpling to his knees as the boy in front of him started to bleed out.

"Please," Spencer sobbed, pushing his hands over the gunshot wound on Owen's leg. Y/N ran over, offering another pair of hands to apply pressure to the wound. Spencer handed her his tie, using it around Owen's thigh to stop the bleeding. While Y/N held it down, Spencer cupped Owen's face, tapping his cheek to keep the boy awake. "Owen, stay with us!"

His fingers twitched. He was trying to go into his jacket pocket.

Spencer reached into Owen's pocket, fishing out what it was Owen was looking for. His mother's necklace.

"I trust you," Owen mumbled, eyes barely open. "I want... you to give it to Jordan."

Spencer nodded, tears spilling down his cheeks as he wrapped his fist around the silver necklace. "I'm so sorry..."

Owen smiled softly at him, feeling his strength start to slip. Still, he had it in him to say it was okay. "It's better this way. I'd leave her... in prison or in death, in the end. This way, I won't have to see it happen."

Y/N stepped away to let the paramedics through as they arrived on the scene, but Spencer stayed put. He didn't leave Owen's side until he was absolutely forced to, fingers clenched tightly over the necklace he was entrusted with.

-

With heavy eyelids and heavier footsteps, Y/N dragged herself back to her hotel room for the evening. Walking with two fingertips touching the wall, tracing the length of the corridor as a safety precaution in case she got too tired to stand up on her own. The day was exhausting, but her reprieve was near. She was almost to her room when she heard it.

Sobbing.

The unmistakable sound of wet sniffling and shaky breaths coming from just behind the corner where the hallway bent. There were only two rooms back there - hers, and the person she least wanted to find on the other side.

He must've heard her coming, anyways. Next thing she heard was a door opening and with a loud, resounding noise, quickly falling shut. She peeked an eye around the bend. The tiny alcove was empty.

Y/N was stuck on what to do next.

If she went into her room, opposite of his, he'd definitely hear her. And then, there'd be no plausible deniability that she'd heard him crying. And she didn't know which of the following two outcomes would be worse, in his eyes: knowing that the person he hates most heard him crying, or, that yet another teammate saw him at his worst and didn't care to do anything about it.

Both outcomes seemed bad. So she gave it three minutes before sneaking into her room as quietly as possible.

It wasn't her place to talk to him anyways. That was what Penelope was for, and if Spencer really needed something, he'd go to her. Probably.

That's what Y/N told herself as she shed off the blood sodden clothes from the day, climbing into the hot stream of her shower to forget it all.

And it was forgotten. Until she came out of the shower, tossing her ruined clothing straight into the garbage, and remembered everything that brought about the noises she'd heard earlier. For a flash of a second, she pictured him now, crying in his room without any reservations now that he was in private.

Would he even sleep tonight? Or worse - would he do something even more damaging to himself than just cry?

Forget it.

Y/N climbed into bed, knocking aside the extra pillows that felt too comforting on days like this one. Turning off the bedside lamp she shut her eyes and tried to put it out of her mind. Spencer wouldn't want her to think about his personal life. Yes, she was part of the team, but she wasn't part of his.

It wasn't her place to speculate.

She laid there for all of two minutes before the guilt bit at her too hard.

"Fuck!" she groaned into the dark, angrily tossing the duvet to the floor as she got up. The words Spencer had said to Owen wouldn't stop ringing in her ears. About people standing by and watching as he struggled; about wanting to escape.

She knew he was talking about himself. And she might not have known Spencer back then, back when all of the stuff with Hankel happened, but she was here now, and that meant she was responsible for now.

All of that momentum stopped shy of Spencer's door.

She paused right outside, thinking it over one more time if she should really bother. He was probably asleep anyways...

Fuck it. She was already here. She placed three timid knocks on the wood, and waited. Ten seconds passed and she placed a final knock, just for good measure. Even if nothing happened, she could now say she tried.

Shrugging to herself, she turned away to go to her own room. Just then the door opened.

Spencer looked weak. His hair was tousled all around his face - one that was puffy, and bloated, and sunken all at once.

"What do you need," he croaked. She could hardly register it when she saw him. His eyes were darker underneath than they normally are, with crimson taking over the whites in them.

"Nothing, um. I -" she shifted on her feet, thinking if she should ask to come in or not. Spencer made no effort to provide her the space to slip in, so she decided against asking. "I came to check if you were alright."

His irritated, red nose scrunched up. "Why are you checking on me?"

"Well, today was a lot... and I heard you crying, so..."

"No. Why are you checking on me?" His lips thinned into a line. "You're the one who said we don't do that."

Her throat tightened. This was an extension of an olive branch - a special and temporary offer given the circumstances - and he was throwing it in her face. A spark of fury warmed in her belly.

"That was different, Reid."

"You should've just sent someone else, if you were really worried." His face looked hard as stone, and just as cold.

"Well nobody else saw you, so it was on me." Besides, she could bet he wouldn't enjoy it much if she went and snitched on him to the others, either. So him being mad right now made no sense.

"Then you might as well not have come at all," Spencer laughed dryly. "You're the last person I'd turn to if I needed someone."

Y/N didn't get a chance to respond before the door was shutting on her face.

Her fingers curled into a fist, poising it to pound hard against the wood as a final fuck you.

Of course he'd be snippy, rude, and ungrateful. Of course.

But also, he was right. If she was being honest, she couldn't say she'd turn to him, either.

Her fist dropped back to her side, fingers relaxing. "That's fair," she mumbled quietly. "Well, um. If you need anything, I'll be across the hall. Don't do anything stupid."

-

She was asleep for an hour when the banging on her door woke her up. She knew right away who it was, and while she wasn't thrilled to be woken up in the middle of the night - especially by him - she also expected he might end up needing to talk.

"Did you change your mind?" she yawned, opening the door.

In lieu of response, Spencer shoved himself inside, shutting the door behind himself. Turning around, he stepped closer and closer, backing her up until she was against the door. Immediately, his mouth went for hers, both hands resting flat against the wood on either side of her head.

Her fingers pulled at his collar. The kiss lasted mere seconds before she used it to pull him off.

"What the fuck are you doing -"

"You said to come if I needed anything," he mumbled, lips now against her neck as he trailed down her throat in open-mouthed kisses. Her hand slid to the front of his chest, holding him just below his neck. Giving it a slight push, he stopped, raising his head to look at her.

"Yeah, like to talk!"

Spencer removed one hand from the wall, bringing it to the outside of her knee. He breathed into her ear, lips skimming her lobe. Slowly, his fingers traced up the length of her bare thigh, stopping only when his knuckle grazed against the hem of her cotton shorts.

"I don't need to talk," he sighed, hot breath fanning over her neck. "I need a distraction."

The gap between their lips closed once more. This time, she opened her mouth, letting him slip his tongue past her lips as she hooked an arm around his neck. His lips tasted of saltwater. His hands spread across each of her hips, bringing her closer to him. He squeezed them tightly as he tugger her away from the wall, guiding her backwards into the room.

-

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