Work Text:
You meet Spencer Reid on a Monday morning.
Exiting the elevator and entering the pen of the BAU, you’d been looking down at your phone when a gangly mass bumped into you, spilling something hot and sticky all over the front of your blouse.
Gasping in shock, you dropped the transfer papers you’d been holding and bent down quickly, only to knock heads with a curly haired man who’s pants rose just enough to show his mismatched socks.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, rubbing his head with one hand while he helped you gather your papers with the other. “I should have been looking at where I was going, but I’ve been so distracted thinking about this novel I read last night. The Grey Seas Under by Farley Mowat.” He continued to ramble, barely taking a second to breathe. “It’s about the legendary tugboat, Foundation Franklin, and the hurricane that destroyed it in 1948. Completely wrecked it. Crazy how a ship can make it through World War II completely untouched, but a hurricane is what gets it. Fascinatingly enough, although the ship was scrapped for the most part, some mechanics from her are still on display today in Halifax. Foundation Franklin was actually the centrepiece of a special tug exhibit which opened in 2009 displaying many pieces of her original equipment and her original bell on loan from Svitzer, Canada”
“Reid.” Your head flew up at the sound of a new voice, eyeing a man in a dark suit with a firm expression. “Are you scaring away another agent already?”
Although his face showed no hints of playfulness, the man’s words held no actual sternness.
The gangly mass, now given a name, stood up with most of your papers in his hand, turning to look at you with rose-tinted cheeks.
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea you were the new hire.”
You stuck your hand out, prodding your papers from his grip. “It’s okay, honestly. It sounds like Foundation Franklin had it worse than me.”
The strict man came down to where the two of you were standing and held out his hand for you to shake. “I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner. That’s Doctor Spencer Reid.”
Reid held up a hand in a wave, pursing his lips together in a tight smile.
“He’s our resident genius. Master of everything.”
“I can tell.” You smile back at Reid.
“I’ll take your transfer papers and give you a minute to go clean up,” Hotchner said before leaving you and the young doctor alone together again in an awkward silence.
“Would you mind showing me where I can get changed?” You gestured to your stained shirt, which was becoming more uncomfortably sticky as the minutes passed. “I want to look a little less shitty when I meet the rest of the team.”
“O-of course,” Reid replies, taking his messenger bag off and setting down on the desk nearest to you both. “I feel horrible about ruining your blouse.”
“It’s whatever. I didn’t like the pattern anyway.”
Reid humors your poor attempt at staying positive, and takes his sweater off, gesturing for you to take it.
“Here, it’s not as nice as your blouse, but I feel really badly about dumping my coffee all over you. I doubt you brought a go-bag with you, since it’s only your first day, and I really don’t want to be responsible for making your day ter-.”
You cut off his rambling, and take the sweater from his outstretched hand, gazing softly up at him.
“Thank you, Reid.”
---
The accident happens on a Saturday afternoon.
You wouldn’t expect the radio to work afterwards, but it does.
Your car is eviscerated. The impact of the four-ton eight wheeler smashing into the passenger side had the force of an atomic bomb. The windows are shattered, the passenger seat is through the windshield, the wheels are deflated, two of the doors are twisted like spiral noodles.
You remember that there had been so much noise at first. Grinding, popping, metal whining against metal, the sound of your shrieks echoing. After a while, it all went quiet, except for this: Bohemian Rhapsody, still playing. Against all odds, the car radio was still attached to it’s battery, and so Queen wailed on.
At first you figure everything is fine. For one, you can still hear Freddie Mercury crooning. Then there’s the fact that you’re standing in a ditch on the side of the highway. When you look down, the jeans, CalTech shirt, and DocMartins you put on that morning all look the same as they did when you left Spencer’s apartment.
You climb out of the ditch to get a better look at your car. You’re not even sure if your beloved Honda can be called a car anymore. It’s a metal skeleton, a shell of what it once was.
You turn around, sighing deeply at the damage, and face the ditch where you came from. There’s a hand sticking up, bent at the wrist.
“Hey,” you call out. “Hey, are you okay down there? Do you need a hand up?”
When you get no response after a few beats, you walk forward. Getting closer, you can make out a silver bracelet wrapped around the wrist. It has a single charm on it - something rectangular. Oddly enough, it looks like the bracelet Spencer had given you on your anniversary of joining the team.
Fuck.
You squint, trying to make out the charm. It’s small- a book, maybe.
Fuck.
It’s your bracelet. You were wearing it this morning. You look down at your wrist. You’re still wearing it now.
You take another step towards the ditch, and immediately wish you hadn’t. You don’t know how it’s possible, but you’re staring at yourself. Or at least a worse-off version of yourself. Blood from your chest has seeped through your shirt and is pooling beneath your body. Both of your legs are askew, bending unnaturally in several places, and one of your boots is missing along with most of the skin on your right foot. Your eyes are half-open, half-closed. Your hair is matted with blood and dirt.
You spin away immediately, feeling your stomach churn. This isn’t right. This can’t be right. This isn’t physically possible. This has to be one of those vivid nightmares that you get on the nights when Spencer isn’t around. You stare down at your arm, the one that isn’t sticking up like a zombie trying to crawl free from a grave, and pinch as hard as you can.
You can’t feel a thing.
---
You became friends with Spencer Reid on a Wednesday night.
It had been a rough couple of days. The case you’d just closed had involved a group of loner teens who were exacting revenge on their middle school bullies. It was always rough when a case involved kids, but you could tell it had been especially rough for Spencer from the way his shoulders sagged as you boarded the jet.
You asked if he’d play you in chess, but he said no, opting to take a seat on one of the leather couches, placing a hand under his chin looking out the window absentmindedly.
“Hi,” you said quietly, coming to sit beside him with two cups of coffee- one as sickeningly sweet as he usually liked it. “What’s going on in that big brain of yours?”
“Nothing,” he murmured, bringing a hand to rub at his eyes. “Just tired, I guess.”
“C’mon, I don’t know you as well as the rest of the team does, but I know you well enough to know that that’s bullshit.”
He didn’t say anything at first, settling instead on taking his coffee from you.
“Thank you,” he said after a minute, turning away from the window.
“For what?”
“Checking on me.”
“Of course. That’s what friends do.”
“We’re friends?” His question made you chuckle nervously.
“Yeah. I mean, if you want to be.”
“Did you know that the average adult has sixteen friends?”
“How many do you have?”
“Seven,” he replied quickly. “Eight, if I count you.”
“Well, I’m honored to be one of Doctor Reid’s eight friends.”
“That’s more than I ever thought I’d have, yet somehow it’s still not enough.”
You frowned at his statement.
He was looking at you, tongue darting out to lick at the corner of his lips. His hazel eyes held a lot of unspoken emotions, but the sadness in them was vivid.
“Spencer,” you said, placing a hand on his knee. “You don’t need sixteen friends. The eight of us love you twice as much as the sixteen ever could.”
“You think?”
“It’s not about what I think. It’s about what I know.”
---
The emergency responders arrive on a Saturday afternoon.
They move you out of the ditch and load you into an ambulance once they discover that, by some miracle, you’re still breathing.
There are apparently a lot of things wrong with you. A collapsed lung, ruptured spleen, internal bleeding of various kinds, contusions on the brain. You also have broken ribs, shattered legs, and cuts all along your arms and face.
Blood is everywhere. If you could, you’d throw up your breakfast, but you can’t. You can’t do much of anything in this state. You’ve become a blob of nothingness.
If the doctors are fazed by your appearance, they don’t show it. They slice, and sew, and suction, and monitor, and load you up with more blood to make up for all the blood you’re losing.
This is their normal.
They move you out of surgery and into the ICU.
A nurse comes by periodically to check your vitals. She’s sweet. She holds your hand and tells you to ‘Hang in there’.
In the waiting room, your emergency contact sits. You’re eternally grateful. Knowing that Hotch is here puts you at ease. It helps calm the churning feeling in the pit of your stomach.
Hotch is wise. Hotch always knows what to do.
A nurse lets him know that you’re in “grave” condition. Grave sounds bad. Grave is where you go when things don’t work out in the ICU.
“Is there anyone you can call?” the nurse asks.
Hotch nods. “There are a few friends on the way.”
Spencer.
Spencer is on the way.
You want to see Spencer.
You backtrack through the halls of the ICU, poking your head behind every curtain until you find your bed. You stand over the lifeless version of you, and bend down to whisper in your ear.
“Keep your shit together, do you hear me? Spence is on his way.”
---
You realize you’re in love with Spencer Reid on a Sunday morning.
At this point, you’re not exactly sure what to feel, or if what you’re feeling is right.
You’re so damn scared everytime you find your stomach flipping when Spencer’s eyes meet yours. You feel so stupid when you think about the way your cheeks flush and your palms start to sweat. You’re not a stupid highschool girl with a crush anymore.
You bite on the inside of your cheek and tuck your arms under your armpits to keep them warm. You’ve wrapped yourself in Spencer’s sweater, the one he gave you on your first day. If you close your eyes and breathe deep, you can almost smell him still - the faint smell of a new book, and sunshine, and a tiny hint of vanilla. It’s like you’re wrapped in Spencer’s arms, which is all you really want.
Maybe that’s why you’re walking to Spencer’s apartment at three in the morning.
The air is so cold it bites - a reminder that the holiday season is right around the corner. You hate it.
You sigh through your nose, the air coming out as a white puff, drifting upwards into the black night sky. Everything feels sort of frozen, like you’re in the twilight zone.
You dart across the street, the sound of your slippers slapping against the pavement. For a second, as you stand outside of Spencer’s apartment complex, you wonder if you should even bother. It’s weird to show up somewhere, completely uninvited, without even texting. He’s probably asleep. He probably won’t want to get out of his warm bed to let you in.
You press the buzzer anyway, crossing your fingers.
It’s dead silent outside, except for the sound of your breathing.
You buzz again.
Nothing.
As you’re about to turn away, the lock clicks open, and you hesitantly step inside. You head for the stairs straight away, feet taking them by twos like second nature.
Your fingers rap against Spencer’s door. Something shifts, someone groans, and then light peeks out from underneath the door.
Spencer opens the door, squinting at you, hair all messed up. He rubs his eyes a few times, confused and groggy, before slipping his glasses on his face.
“Hey?”
You feel sort of bad for waking him up, especially when there’s no good reason other than the fact that you loved him so much you felt like your chest might burst.
You try to speak, but the words just won’t come out. Spencer helps you inside regardless, just letting you think for a minute, shutting the door softly behind you.
“Are you okay?”
You can’t answer. You don’t know how to answer. You can’t concentrate on anything but how gorgeous Spencer looks in the light glow of his lamp.
“No,” you manage to spit out. “I just... Whatever. It’s late, I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t go. It’s okay, I promise.”
“We have work tomorrow,” you say stupidly. “We work together.”
“So?”
“Workplace fraternizing isn’t encouraged.”
“What?”
“Spence…” Your fingers find his forearm, trailing down to his hand. Spencer’s breath catches in his throat. “I don’t know why I’m here,” you lie. “I just really don’t want to be alone.”
Spencer nods, like he understands what you mean. He intertwines your fingers, leading you to his couch. You kick your slippers off and curl into his side, letting your head droop onto his shoulder. His warmth is intoxicating.
“Whatever it is,” he says, voice soft. “Whenever you want to talk about it, I want you to know that I’m here.”
You sit up, looking Spencer in the eye. His eyes are so trusting. He makes you feel so safe.
All the space between you closes as you bring your face closer to his. You swing your leg so that you’re straddling his lap, hand moving to trace patterns along his jawline before you’re just…
Kissing.
It’s the best feeling in the world, but you pull back anyway.
“Fuck, Spence. I’m sorry I just-”
“I’m not upset.” Spencer’s fingers find the hem of your ratty t-shirt, travelling under it to rest on your warm skin. “Are you?”
“Am I upset?”
“Yes.”
“No, Spence. Of course not.” It’s like a dam bursting - you’re flooded with so many emotions at once, and all you can think about is tackling Spencer and kissing him again and again and again. You want to spend the rest of your life in Spencer Reid’s grasp, completely and utterly at home. “I love you.”
“Is that why you’re here?”
“Maybe.”
“I love you, too.”
---
You’re ecstatic when Emily arrives at the hospital on a Saturday afternoon.
JJ is with her. She’s red-faced, like she’s been crying or is about to cry. Emily grips JJ’s hand until she sees Hotch, and then she rushes over to get any updates.
He murmurs to the two of them in a low voice, too low for you to catch what he’s saying. His expression is more grim than usual.
The nurses agree to let Emily in to see you for about three minutes, give or take.
She stands over your bed with her arms crossed tightly, lips pursed. You’ve never seen her look so vulnerable.
“Please don’t die on us. I can totally understand why you’d want to, but think about how shitty the bureau would be without your laughter.” She wipes away a single tear with the back of her hand. “If you live, I’ll buy you those expensive macchiato things you drink everyday for the rest of your life. You can even pick the next movie for Girls Night.”
She brushes a hand across your forehead, moving the strands of hair that were falling into your eyes.
“We’re all here for you.”
“Hey, sunshine,” Derek says quietly.
He and Garcia sit beside your bed in the shitty hospital chairs that make your ass feel numb after a while. Garcia is sitting very still and her hands are shaking. She’s gripping onto her purse - decorated with kittens - like her life depends on it.
“Do you think she decides?”
“Decides?”
Garcia looks stressed. “Does she decide whether she gets to stay here or not?”
“I don’t know, babygirl.”
“I think she does. I think she’s running the show.”
Garcia’s words make something click in your head.
If you stay. If you live. If you die. If you give up. It’s all up to you.
How the fuck are you supposed to decide something like that? And where the fuck is Spencer?
---
You tell the team that you’re dating Spencer Reid on a Thursday morning.
“We should probably tell the team that we’re dating, right?” You ask the boy genius as he flips through a case file.
Spencer sets the file down on his desk and you feel his eyes on you like a microscope to your soul.
“Yeah. I suppose we should.” His voice is an octave higher than usual, and he rakes a hand through his hair, letting it flop down on his forehead.
“They’re bound to find out eventually.”
“Right. Right, yeah, of course.” Spencer’s voice is small and hushed. “It’ll definitely be easier than telling my mom.”
“We can figure that out later.” You move your hand to brush over his, trying to sooth his nerves. “All in good time.”
“How are we going to tell them?”
“I don’t know. Maybe something like ‘Hey everyone, you know how Spencer’s constantly coming into work with hickies? That’s because we’re together. It’s not a mystery girlfriend, sorry to disappoint. Just me. Don’t worry, we’re safe, everything’s alright, we’re happy, I’m in love with your beloved Pretty Boy, pass the potato chips.’”
There’s a gasp from behind you, and you watch Spencer’s eyes widen as he realizes that Garcia heard every word you’d just said. You freeze in place immediately. There’s silence settling between the three of you, and your vision blurs.
“Oh my god,” Garcia’s voice is light and chirpy. You can tell, without turning around, that she’s struggling to hold it together. “You’re in love with Spencer Reid?”
Swiveling around, ever so slowly, you face her. The grin on her face is blinding.
“You’re in love with Spencer Reid and you never told me?”
Spencer moves his hand to come and grasp yours. Garcia’s eyes widen more, as wide as possible. She shrieks, calling JJ and Emily over.
“Tell them what you just said,” she demands, pointing at your hands.
Every word of the English language that you’ve ever learned has left your brain, so Spencer speaks for you.
“We’re together.”
“No, no,” Garcia interrupts. “Say the other thing. The L-word.”
JJ and Emily share a smile that splits across their faces and they look at you both with gleaming eyes. Spencer brings your hand up to his lips, kissing it softly.
“I love you,” he whispers, visibly anxious with the audience now watching you.
“They’re in love,” Garcia squeals, jumping up and down as she claps.
“Yeah,” you say, beaming at Spencer. “We’re in love.”
---
It’s a Saturday night when Spencer finally shows up.
Since the beginning of this you’ve been imagining his arrival, but now that he’s actually here, you feel paralyzed. In your fantasy world, you rush to greet him and somehow he feels your presence, like in Ghost. But that’s just a movie. A fantasy is all it ever will be. Besides, how can you be a ghost if you’re technically not dead. Not yet.
You’re scared to see Spencer. Scared to see his face. If he’s crying, that just might kill you on the spot. When he hurts, you hurt just as bad.
You watch Spencer make his way to the waiting room. His face, illuminated by the horrible hospital lighting, is blank - like someone wiped away all of his emotions with an eraser. He doesn’t look like Spencer, but at least he’s not crying. Not yet.
“What do you mean I can’t go in?” Spencer’s voice is high and hysterical.
You listen to an orderly explain that he hasn’t been given access to view the patient by the patient’s emergency contact.
Hotch left to get coffee for the team, so he can’t step in and make this right. Not right now, anyway.
“This is ridiculous!” Spencer yells. “The Sentara Northern Virginia Medical Center website states that open visiting hours for emergency patients, unless strictly directed otherwise by doctoral staff, is allowed until nine.”
Emily and Rossi look at each other, their eyes wary. He’s spiraling.
“I need to see her!”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible right now, sir.”
“But my... She... The likelihood of her surviving this is a one out of twenty five chance. If I don’t get to see her before she-”
You watch as Spencer cuts himself off, not being able to bear those terrible words coming out of his mouth. Spencer folds over onto himself, knees buckling. The reality of the situation is finally hitting him.
Derek, who had been hovering near the wall, is suddenly at Spencer’s side, arms encircling his fallen form. “When Hotch comes back he’s going to fix this, Reid. I promise. You just have to wait a few minutes.”
Spencer openly sobs. “What if we don’t have a few minutes to wait?”
You’re staring at yourself. You look so stupid in this hospital bed. So helpless. A burst of fury bubbles up in your chest. If you could, you’d slap your own lifeless face.
You can’t, so instead you stand beside your bed and close your eyes, wishing all of this would just go away. You wish you could just stop breathing. You wish your stupid heart stuck in your stupid body would just stop beating.
As it turns out, Garcia is right.
You control this. You’re in charge.
Your monitors are beeping rapidly as the sweet nurse runs in.
“BP and pulse are dropping,” she shouts. “Code blue! Code blue in ICU bed five!”
Doctors are racing towards your bed, wide eyed and panicked.
“She was stable a minute ago! Her vitals were normal! What happened?”
“No idea.”
They work rapidly to detach the monitors and the IVs and the tube that’s running down your throat. A nurse runs into the room with a gurney, which they heave you onto. Then they’re gone, into the maze of hallways heading for the emergency OR.
You don’t know when they’ll return. Or if they’ll return at all.
You’re back where you started. Bed five.
You don’t have the energy for this decision. You don’t want to live like this anymore.
Every cell in your blob-like state is grateful when Rossi and Hotch march into your room.
“You’ve sure got us on the edge of our seats today,” Hotch says sternly. “The whole team is worried sick.”
Rossi pulls a chair up to your bedside and takes your tiny hand in his. Hotch stands behind him, frowning.
“You’re strong,” Rossi says aloud. He scoots the chair closer and leans over so that he can whisper in your ear. “We know how strong you are, but it’s okay, you know, if you want to let go. We’d appreciate it if you stayed, but of course we’d understand if this is all too much. It’s okay to stop fighting sometimes.”
You feel something inside of you break. You feel yourself breathe deeply, like a huge weight was just removed from your chest. Relief fills you.
Rossi gets it. Rossi is the first person today to actually acknowledge what you’re going through.
Silently, you send him your gratitude.
---
It’s a Tuesday morning when you realize that you want a life with Spencer Reid.
“I have a question.”
“Hm?”
“Can we have a baby?”
Amazingly enough, the mug almost to your lips doesn’t fall to the floor. You freeze, sure, and the grip on your mug turns your knuckles white.
“Are you alright?”
“Give me a minute,” you reply.
Spencer waits.
You sigh.
You knock back the entire cup of coffee, and then pour another before you can face your boyfriend.
“Okay,” you say. “Where the fuck did that come from?”
Spencer smiles. “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”
“What the fuck?”
“It’s just,” Spencer blinks rapidly as he tries to cultivate words in a way that won’t scare you away. “I think you’d make an amazing mother. I’d really like to have a family with you.”
“Spence, we’re not even married yet.”
“Well that’s an easy fix. We could go out and get married right now, start our family by eleven o’clock. Most courts allow you to get married on the same day, or within 24 hours of your marriage-license application. Not to mention the courthouse ceremony itself usually takes less than 10 minutes.”
You’ve never talked about this before, despite talking about nearly everything else. It’s just never come up before.
“You’d want to marry me?”
“Yes.”
You set your mostly-empty mug on the counter and fidget with your hands. Spencer watches you do that for a while before reaching out. He extends his hand for you to take, and sighs happily when your fingers fit together perfectly.
“You don’t have to answer me right now,” he says.
“Yes.”
“Yes to what?”
“Yes to everything. Us. You. Our family.”
“Did you even think about it?”
“I didn’t have to,” you reply. “Not really. You’re already my home, Spence.”
Spencer beams. “I love you.”
---
It’s a Saturday night when Spencer’s allowed to see you.
“In you go,” someone says briskly. You hear the curtain that’s drawn across your ICU room open, and then close.
You force your head up and open your eyes.
Spencer.
God, even in this state he’s the most beautiful human you’ve ever laid eyes on.
When he first sees you, he falters. You look pretty bad, hooked up to ventilators and a dozen other tubes, but after a moment, Spencer just exhales loudly and settles beside you. He’s perched carefully on the edge of your bed, taking your hand in his and kissing it softly.
“Your hands are cold,” he says.
You’re so tired. You can barely keep your eyes open. You’re trying, you swear. You’re trying to hold on for Spencer.
Spencer closes his eyes. The lids are puffy and pink. They betray that he’s been crying.
“Please don’t leave me.” Spencer takes his other hand and runs it through your matted hair. “Please. Please, just listen to me.”
You listen.
“Stay. Don’t leave me. I can’t lose you like this. What happened is horrible, and I know you probably want to let go, but you shouldn’t. I probably sound selfish and needy, but you - you’re everything. Please. You should stay. Stay for me. Stay for the team. Stay for our future.”
Spencer kisses your forehead.
“I love you. I love you more than all the stars in the galaxy, and then some.”
Something inside of you implodes.
You’re sitting at your desk at the BAU, drinking coffee, laughing at Derek’s teasing.
You’re slouched on Emily’s couch, sipping wine and cheering everytime Channing Tatum takes his shirt off.
You’re babysitting for JJ and Will, looking on as Spencer holds Henry’s hand to cross the street.
You’re arching your back off of Spencer’s bed as he trails kisses down your stomach.
You’re holding Garcia’s new kitten, tickling it behind it’s ears as the others giggle and coo ‘Awww’s.
You’re applauding and whooping wildly as Hotch finally gives into peer pressure and sings a karaoke duet with Rossi.
The memories of your life as it was, and the flashes of everything worth living for, are coming back.
There’s a blinding flash behind your eyelids, a pain that rips through your chest, a silent scream from your broken body. For the first time, you truly realize how agonizing it will be to stay.
But then you feel Spencer’s hand. You’re not a blob anymore. You’re laying on your back in the hospital bed.
Spencer is crying and somewhere inside of you, you know you’re crying, too, because you finally feel things again. Physical pain, the pain of loss and shock, everything is crashing into you all at once. All the love, all the life, all the support, all the hope for the future.
Suddenly you just need to grasp Spencer’s hand more than you’ve ever needed anything else in the entirety of your life.
It’s hard.
You’re weak, and it’s so painful.
You summon all the love you’ve ever felt, all the strength, the breath you’ve been holding, and you focus all of that into the fingers of your right hand.
And then you squeeze.
Spencer’s grip tightens, and you hear the sharp intake of his breath followed by the softness of his voice as tears drip onto your hospital gown.
“Thank you.”