#screennamealreadyused

The case had been far too long. Garcia had had to fly out because the police department's technology had been entirely inadequate and it was impossible for her to liason with them from afar, and she'd been here a week. It was safe to say everybody was more than ready to get home, but since a storm had chosen to roll over town, the jet had been grounded for the night.

It was this series of unfortunate events that led to everybody, even Hotch himself, saying 'fuck it' and taking up residence at the hotel bar for the night. Rossi was buying, after all. Even if he didn't know it yet.

You'd wound up crammed next to Spencer in a booth, your knees pressed together. He'd been cradling the same beer bottle for most of the night, mostly just picking at the label until it started to peel off. When Garcia notices this, she slams her fruity cocktail down on the slightly sticky table, shaking her head at him.

"I know what we should do," She chirps, loudly enough to draw everybody's attention, "Let's play never have I ever!"

Nobody has the energy to argue with her, or the willpower to resist her arguments. Hotch concedes with a nod, sighing, "I'll need to get another drink."

Emily murmurs in agreement, and you feel Spencer shift in his seat beside you. Most of them having departed for refreshments, you turn your attention to him.

There's a small grin quirking his lips, "I hope they realise I probably still won't have to drink."

You nudge him with your elbow, "It's Garcia. I'm sure you will."

You two share a private little laugh, and he takes a sip from the bottle, shrugging. The game starts up the second everybody returns, Garcia firing it off with "Never have I ever flown out to Texas."

Everybody groans, rolling their eyes as they take a sip. You exchange a small 'told-you-so' glance with Spencer, and he shakes his head affectionately.

It remains relatively friendly for a while, Hotch says one about handing in case reports late, which earns begrudging sips from Emily, Derek, and even Rossi. The first punch is thrown after Derek steals Emily's wine when she goes to the bathroom, taking a big glug from it. He says she won't notice, and despite the chorus of protests to the contrary, he remains undeterred.

She does notice. And she's unimpressed to say the least. When she comes back, another drink in hand, she flops into her seat.

"I think it's my turn," She announces.

"I think it was actually-" Garcia tries.

"Nope," Emily interrupts, taking a long sip of her drink and turning smugly to Derek, "Never have I ever run out of underwear on a case and had to wear my boxers inside out."

Derek's eyes narrow, "That was a whiskey secret."

"Tell me you didn't!" Penelope gasps, pulling a horrified face and pretending to shift her chair away from him.

"Real impressive bunch we've got here," Rossi notes to Hotch, chuckling.

Hotch raises his eyebrows, bringing his drink to his lips before clarifying, "I'm not drinking for the game. But it seems you probably should Morgan."

Morgan turns to you, as if looking for support and you laugh, "Not to say I told you so but," You shrug.

He groans, drinking and murmuring under his breath. While it didn't affect the rest of the team, it certainly spurred them into a different direction. Garcia's next one is a very quickly garbled "Never have I ever been divorced", and she practically shrinks into Morgan's lap to avoid the death glares Hotch and Rossi throw her way.

Hotch adjusts in his seat before taking his turn, "Never have I ever been caused a federal data breach by playing a game on government time."

You laugh first, a bubble of shock and amusement, “Hotch.”

He spares you a glance, his imitation of a grin, “Yes ____?”

Your response, which you hadn’t quite thought of anyway, is swept away in a series of jeers. A relatively fair mixture of surprise that Hotch has stepped up to the role of saboteour, and laughs purely at Penelope’s expense. You’re firmly a member of the former camp, alongside Spencer. You catch him in your peripheral, beaming at Hotch.

“Game’s a game baby girl,” Morgan grins, “That’s what you get for messing with Hotch.”

The teasing slows down the process, but you’re distracted by Spencer now. He’s shifted in his seat and his arm is right next to yours. You can feel the heat coming off it. Whether the movement was conscious or unconscious, you can’t be sure, but what you can be sure of is that the proximity is relatively distracting.

It’s his turn. Of course it is.

Very non-chalantly, without changing his posture, said as calmly as if he’s delivering a profile at the police station, he says it, “Never have I ever hidden under my desk from Strauss and gotten my colleague to lie to her that I was at a dentist appointment to avoid doing a Q&A with probationary agents.”

That bastard.

You feel yourself flush with warmth, and press your lips together in your best imitation of a neutral poker face. Everybody looks at each other with varying degrees of accusation, but it’s Emily’s eyes that come to land on you first.

She grins like a damn Cheshire cat, “Oh ____, I did not peg you for the insubordinate type.”

You feel the weight of eight gazes on your face, and you turn to glare at Spencer. He looks smug as all hell, not trying at all to suppress his glee at having dropped you in it, although he won’t meet your eye. Everybody’s laughing, including him, and you join in too, in spite of yourself.

“Oh you’re going to be sorry for that.”

And he is. On your next turn, you make a big show out of settling in your seat. Dramatically looking around the table, before angling yourself towards Spencer and looking directly at him, dryly delivering, “Never have I ever had to call my colleague from a bookstore because a bunch of teenage boys stole my cane.”

“You got mugged of your cane?” Emily asks incredulously.

“Oh my sweet precious boy,” Penelope cuts in.

You don’t hear Morgan or JJ’s comments because Spencer is looking at you, his mouth agape, the very picture of indignance, squeaking, “I can’t believe you told them about that!”

You can tell it’s put on though. He’s bright red, the blush poking up under his collar and licking at his cheeks, shaking his head vigorously as Morgan asks him varying questions about the appearance of the boys in question, whether he needs him to get him a sketch artist and whether he’d like to file a report for a regular robbery or a mugging.

Spencer huffs under his breath, flustered, “You’re going to regret that one.”

And regret it you do. Emily is had by JJ in ‘never have I ever faked my death and moved to Paris’, Morgan is had by Hotch in ‘never have I ever kicked in a door only to realise it wasn’t locked in the first place’, JJ is had by a very tipsy Garcia in a ‘never have I ever turned down three marriage proposals’, and you and Spencer have engaged in a private war that only escalates with each sip you have to take.

Emily is cradling her, once again, almost empty glass of wine, ready to take her turn after yet another round of friendly fire between you and Spencer.

She twirls it around in her hands, pointedly flicking her eyes between you both as she says it, “Never have I ever had a crush on a colleague.”