Chapter Text
Spencer liked his apartment. It was quiet, close to work, and he was rarely disturbed by neighbors or loud noises. He was able to work in peace and get more done at home than most twenty-seven-year-olds could. Overall, he knew he as lucky to have an apartment in the location he did. He refused to take it for granted, after hearing some horror stories from Morgan and Prentiss. They might have been exaggerating, but Spencer wasn’t too sure.
He made a point to know his neighbors. Maybe it was his paranoid side, or an occupational hazard of needing to know if he was in constant danger, or maybe he was just social. He almost laughed to himself. Everyone knew it wasn’t the last one.
But, on a fateful Tuesday afternoon when he was coming home from work, he saw something in his apartment building that surprised him. Moving boxes.
It wasn’t Mrs. Pratt, she refused to leave her husband no matter how annoying he was. And it wasn’t Miss Frids, the sweet librarian who sometimes asked Reid for book recommendations. And there was the empty apartment at the end of the hall—
That was it.
No one was moving out. Someone was moving in, and Spencer Reid had a new neighbor. He hoped that the new addition to the hall wouldn’t interrupt the balance that he loved.
Just as he put his key in the door, he heard muffled cursing. It was a feminine voice, ending in a higher pitch and a sharp cry of pain.
Spencer left the keys in the door and went further down the hall. Whoever it was, he hoped she wasn’t hurt.
The front door was open and a girl was standing almost in the middle of the living room immediately in front of the front door. She was balancing on one leg and holding her right food in her hands, hopping and making pained noises.
“Are…are you alright?” Spencer asked tentatively, not wanting to intrude, but also wanting to make sure she was okay.
She looked up and smiled in surprise. She let her foot go and stood on both legs and stepped forward, extending her right hand. “Hi, I’m (Name). Sorry about the swear words, my couch is apparently made of harder material than I assumed.”
Spencer, who had stubbed his toe many times in his apartment while walking around with his nose in a book, nodded. “I always think the corners jump out at me when I’m not looking.”
(Name) laughed and Spencer grinned at the sound. “I’m Spencer Reid, by the way. I live in 3C.”
“Neighbor! Nice. I was hoping that everyone would be alright around here,” she said. “You’re the first one I’ve met, so it’s starting off good.”
Spencer nodded. “Mrs. Pratt and her husband are in 3A. Miss Frids is in 3D. Both are super nice and they’re quiet. It’s…it’s a really good place to live.”
(Name) grinned and tilted her head to the side. “Lucky me.”
“I’ll let you get back to unpacking,” Spencer said as he took a step backwards, towards his apartment.
“See you around, Spence.”
Spencer didn’t see (Name) for another week and a half after first meeting her. He flew to New York for a case and then when he came back, he didn’t hear anything from (Name)’s apartment. He didn’t think about her much, but her smile drifted across his mind more than once.
He had jut gotten home from work and was staring at his measly pantry to decide what to eat for dinner before starting a new book he had found.
A knock on his door interrupted his train of thought and he went to answer it, checking the peephole first. It was (Name), holding something in her hands.
He opened the door and immediately smelled warm cookies. Chocolate chip with hints of vanilla. They were probably still warm. His mouth watered.
“Hi, Spence,” (Name) greeted. Without much preamble, she offered the plate of cookies to him. “I bake when I’m stressed. I hope you like cookies.”
Well, that solved the problem of what he was going to eat for dinner.
“Thank you, (Name),” he said, taking them gratefully. “Baking while stressed is actually compared to meditating, which lowers blood pressure and is a healthy coping—sorry, I’m rambling.”
“No, actually, that makes sense,” (Name) smiled. “I always feel better after baking, I just thought it was because I was good at it.”
“Smells like you are,” Spencer said without thinking. He blushed.
(Name) chuckled. “Thanks. Good to know that I have someone to dump my baking on in the future.”
Spencer nodded, and watched (Name) go back down the hall to her apartment.
It continued like that for months. (Name) would bake all sorts of delicacies when she felt pressure or stressed, or anything but jovial. Spencer, although he felt empathy towards her stress, enjoyed the fruits of her labor. She once made a peach cobbler that almost made his knees buckle.
Sometimes, (Name) would sit with him and enjoy some of her creations with him. Other times, Spencer would open his front door in the morning to a tubberware container with a treat for him.
As time passed, Spencer realized he was getting more and more treats. Cakes, cupcakes, cheesecakes, and more than he can name. One day, after getting two cakes in a row, he went down the hall to knock on her door.
She answered and despite what Spencer thought, not at all stressed.
“I thought you baked excessive amounts when you’re stressed.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean that I refuse to bake unless stressed,” she retorted, putting her hand on her hip. “If you don’t want cakes, I won’t leave them anymore.”
Her expression was becoming more and more cloudy and Spencer realized he might have annoyed her.
“No, no, I’m not complaining,” he said, holding his hands up in a placating manner. “I was just…checking on you. Wanted to make sure you were okay, especially because you were baking so much. But definitely not complaining.”
(Name) tilted her head, considering his words. “It makes me happy to bake for you.”
Spencer is surprised and caught off guard. The honesty was more than he had expected and he wasn’t sure how to respond.
“I like that you bake for him,” he managed to say.
(Name) smiled. “I’m working on some cookies for work right now, would you like to help?”
Spencer grinned, and nodded before he entered the apartment. “I’d like that.”