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Spencer may be a literal genius, but every once in a while he does something completely and utterly ridiculous.
Today is one of those days.
He knows that he’s made a terrible mistake the moment he sees the look on your face. The two of you lock eyes for just a second, and Spencer opens his mouth to say something—anything—but you don’t give him the chance. You turn and head right back into the house, slamming the door shut behind you.
Spencer barely registers when Elle shoves the destroyed film strip into his hand.
“I fell in,” he mutters lamely. He knows she doesn’t buy it for an instant.
She arches an eyebrow. “Yeah, and I'm sure there were plenty of photos of it.”
He ignores her, looking past her and through the windows of the living room. There’s a flurry of movement inside, but he can’t quite make out what’s happening.
“Reid,” Elle sighs. “Forget it. Y/N probably already left with Morgan, and we need to focus on catching this unsub. You’re going to have to deal with this fuck-up later.”
She’s right. He knows it, but it doesn’t mean he has to like it. He shifts awkwardly in his waterlogged shoes, and the sudden realization that he both looks and feels like a drowned rat hits him all at once.
Elle smirks, though not unkindly, and pats him on the shoulder. “Go dry yourself off. And try not to kiss any more girls you don’t actually like while you’re at it.”
Elle knows. Spencer doesn’t know how, but she always does.
*
Her words play on an endless loop that night. The case is over, the unsub has been caught and no one else is going to get hurt. It’s the best outcome they could have hoped for, in all honesty.
So why doesn’t Spencer feel any better?
That’s pretty easily answered—you haven’t spoken to him, much less looked at him, since that moment beside the pool—but it just leads to another, bigger question: why did Spencer even do it? Why did he kiss Lila Archer?
There’s a million possible reasons, a million possible explanations. She kissed him, really, and he just reacted on instinct. If anything, it was almost nice to be… to be wanted.
Even if it was just transference.
She didn’t really like him, and he has realized with astonishing clarity exactly why that doesn’t bother him in the slightest—he’s in love with his best friend.
He’s in love with you. While that particular bit of info is not news at all to him, today has served to solidify the fact that the feeling isn’t going to pass—that he can’t simply will himself to move on, to squash down that ache. If anything, kissing Lila made him realize just one thing: how much he wishes that he could kiss you.
He wonders—not for the first time—what it would be like, how your lips would taste, how your skin would feel beneath his hands. It wouldn’t feel anything like the kiss in the pool, that much he is certain of. That had been sloppy and rushed and—and well, wet of course, but more than that it had felt like… like make-believe.
Spencer’s not sure if he’s ever even entertained the notion that a kiss could feel fake before, but he’s certain with you it would be anything but.
Not that he’ll ever get the chance.
Even with all of that out of the way, it begs one last, crucial question: why do you care? Why have you been avoiding him since you left the last crime scene?
Spencer supposes you’re probably just upset at his unprofessionalism, at the fact that you had found him in a pool of all places after all of his rants to you about the importance of following protocol. You probably just think he’s a hypocrite.
He thinks that maybe that could be it, but it still doesn’t really make sense.
Like I said, Spencer may be a literal genius, but every once in a while he’s just plain ridiculous.
*
Spencer tells himself that it’ll blow over, that he’ll get a chance to talk to you, to explain things, and everything will go back to normal. The two of you will share a laugh over the absurdity of that night and then move on. It’ll go back to the way it’s been for the last three years: best friends.
He doesn’t really want just that, but at the moment he’ll take what he can get.
It’s been a week and a half now since the case in LA, and Spencer really doesn’t understand what’s happening. Every time he attempts to speak to you alone, to talk about something other than work, you shut him out completely. Outside of work and the standard hello in the morning, you’ve spoken all of two words to him.
A long day of paperwork comes slowly to a close, and Spencer watches as you shoulder your bag and practically run to the elevators. You shout, “Bye! See you tomorrow!” to Derek and Elle, and then you’re gone.
Spencer only realizes that he’s staring at the exit where you were just a moment ago when a crumpled up ball of paper whacks him on the head. “Ow,” he squeaks out, rubbing his temple dramatically. He can hear Derek laughing to himself and he shoots a glare in his direction. “What was that for?”
Derek raises an eyebrow. “You’re kidding me.”
“What? No—no, I’m not.”
“I told you,” Elle says to Derek, leaning back in her chair, feet propped up on her desk and arms crossed. The look she’s giving Spencer is all too knowing, and he feels like he might just wither up right then and there. “So much for a genius.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying! How much is really going on up there in that pretty little head of his?”
“Excuse me? You know I can hear you guys, right?”
Elle rolls her eyes and nods. “Yeah, I’m aware. I’m hoping maybe eventually my point will get across.”
“Which is?” Spencer asks, although he’s not really sure that he wants to know.
A look of complete disbelief flashes across her face and she just shakes her head, more to herself than to Spencer. Luckily she’s got Derek to back her up. “Which is,” he says, “that you messed things up big time by making out with Miss Movie Star in the pool when we all know that the one person you really wanna be kissing just walked out of those doors.”
Spencer can feel the heat rush to his face, his mouth opening and closing so many times that he realizes that he must look like a fish gasping for air. Had he really been this obvious all of this time?
The short answer is: yes.
He finally manages to shut his mouth, though he still blinks wildly at the two of them. It’s no use denying it—not with the pointed looks Elle and Derek are sending his way. He decides it’s better to just accept his fate. Still, he asks, “What does this have to do with why they’re ignoring me?”
Elle lets out a groan so loud that Spencer practically jumps out of his seat. She mimics being stabbed in the heart, slumping backward in her chair dramatically. “You’re fucking killing me, Reid.”
Derek just shakes his head. “I don’t know why we even bother.” Spencer narrows his eyes at him, and he laughs brightly. “Because they’re in love with you, you absolute fool.”
Spencer’s jaw drops again, and if his face was red before, now he must look like an actual tomato. “What—what are you talking about? No, that’s… that’s ridiculous.”
Derek huffs out a sigh. “Is it though?”
Elle just stares at him. He stares back, eyes wide, but all she does is arch an eyebrow wordlessly. There’s a beat of silence between the three of them, and Spencer feels like his brain is kicking into overdrive.
He stands up abruptly, grabbing his bag from the floor. “I have to go.” He doesn’t look back, just heads towards the elevators—suddenly a man on a mission.
The last thing he hears before the glass doors swing shut is Derek’s call of “Go get ‘em, lover boy.”
*
Spencer’s confidence has all but evaporated by the time he gets to your apartment. The moment he stops moving, he realizes how absolutely ludicrous this is. Just because Elle and Derek claim that there’s something there doesn’t mean anything is actually there. It doesn’t mean that you really actually like him—he doesn’t even want to begin to consider the possibility of love.
This isn’t a movie, for crying out loud. He’s not going to just waltz right in there and declare his love for you and have you magically reciprocate it. It’s not going to be all rainbows and butterflies and happily-ever-afters.
Those kinds of things don’t happen to Spencer Reid.
He rings the doorbell anyway.
He waits a moment before waving awkwardly—he knows you’re looking through the peephole. The door opens, just a crack. Just enough so that he can see your face.
“Spencer,” you say flatly, and he tries not to wince.
“Can I—um, can I come in?”
It feels like he can physically see you weighing out your options, and he tries to brace himself for the door being slammed in his face. Instead, you sigh and open it just a bit wider. “Okay.”
Spencer follows you wordlessly into the living room, feeling as though he’s holding his breath. One wrong move and you’ll realize you’ve made a mistake letting him in—he’s sure of it.
The minutes tick by painfully slowly, neither of you saying a word until: “I should—should I go?”
You shake your head and sink onto the couch. “Please stay.” Spencer stands at the other end, hands shoved into his pockets as he bounces on the balls of his feet. You just watch him for a second before finally rolling your eyes. “Sit down, dingus,” you say, patting the space beside you.
The casual use of the somehow oddly affectionate nickname gives Spencer the slightest sliver of hope. Maybe all is not lost.
He sits, although not nearly as close to you as he would like.
“How’s Li—”
“I can’t stand not talking to you.” Your half-uttered question registers, and he blinks at you in confusion. “Wait. What?”
“How’s Lila?” you ask again, your voice barely audible as you pick at a thread of your sweater.
“She’s… I don’t know. I’m sure she’s fine.”
You glance up at him. “You don’t know how she’s doing?”
Spencer shakes his head. “I don’t—I mean, I haven’t spoken to her since we left. I’m not… I wasn’t planning on speaking to her.”
“Oh, I see.” You choke out a broken laugh. “I guess you’re just the kind of guy who goes around making out with celebrities in pools now. A one and done kind of deal. Wow.” You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Y/N—”
“No, Spencer, really. Who’s next? Are you just waiting for our next high-profile case so you can scope out the next flavor of the month?”
He deserved that. It was harsh, but he deserved it.
“Y/N, that’s not—that’s not what it was. It was a mistake, I never meant for that to happen. She—she pulled me into the pool and then the next thing I knew—”
“Oh, really? It was all her?” you snap. “I don’t even know why I care. Actually, you know what? I don’t.”
Even as you say it, Spencer can see you fighting back tears. He thinks of what Elle and Derek had said, thinks about the senseless pain he had inadvertently put you through, and even though you’re yelling at him, he can’t help but love you all the more.
“Kiss whoever the hell you want—”
“She wasn’t you.”
There’s a heavy beat of silence, and Spencer immediately begins to think that he’s said the wrong thing. You’re staring at him now with wide, glistening eyes, almost frozen mid sentence.
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat and you snap out of your daze. “What did you just say?” You’re no longer yelling, which he tries to think of as a good sign.
“She—she wasn’t you,” Spencer repeats. “I don’t know how she’s doing because neither of us actually like each other, and what happened that night was a strange, stupid mistake, and I don’t know why I did it.”
He ducks his head, though he can’t look away from you. Shame seeps through his words. “Actually, I maybe know why I did it. I thought that maybe—maybe it would help me move on. And it... I don't know—I think I was trying to pretend that I could exist in some alternate reality where something like that could make me happy.” He blinks back the unexpected tears that sting at his eyes. “But it didn’t—it didn’t work. Because the person that I really wanted to be kissing was you, and no amount of distraction in the world will ever make me forget that, and I think in every reality, I still find you.” The sudden silence when he stops talking is almost startling, and he lets out a long exhale, finally breaking the much too intense eye contact and staring at his hands in his lap.
You don’t say a word, and Spencer desperately tries to disappear into the couch. Maybe he can finally make good on a vanishing act, pretend that none of this ever happened, that he never said all of this. Maybe he can beg you to forget all of it.
He thinks that, but then—then he looks back up at you.
You’re staring at him again, but he looks up just in time to see a smile spread slowly across your face. He can tell you’re trying not to smile, but you can’t help it.
“You’re serious,” you say. It’s not a question, but Spencer nods anyway. There’s a pause, and then you let out a dramatic groan. “God damn it, Spence.”
He doesn’t know exactly what he had expected your response to his ridiculous speech to be, but it certainly wasn’t that. He winces, trying to sink further down into the couch cushions and, hopefully, off of the face of this planet. “What?”
“I feel like I should still be mad at you, but I can’t. Not when you look at me like that.”
“Like what?” He’s not sure he really wants to know.
“Like you’re in love with me.”
Spencer’s gaze snaps back to you at that, and it takes him a moment to register the look in your eyes.
It’s hope—vulnerable and delicate, and so genuine that it takes everything in Spencer to not kiss you right then and there. He smiles at you instead, bright and beaming and so wide that his cheeks ache. He closes the distance between the two of you, daring to reach up and rest his hand on the side of your face. When his thumb sweeps across the apple of your cheek, you inhale sharply and he leans in even closer.
“You know why I look at you like that?” he asks, his voice just above a whisper.
You shake your head, your eyes searching his, but the radiant smile on your face gives you away.
“It’s because I am.”
“That’s good,” you breathe out, laughing shakily. You tuck a stray curl behind his ear, and he realizes with a startling certainty that he wants your hands on him for the rest of his life. “Because I’m in love with you, too.”
And there it is, the plain honest truth. The truth that the two of you have been dancing around for the past three years. It’s suddenly right there, right in front of you, and all Spencer has to do is reach out and take it.
“I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to do this,” he says, more to himself than to you.
“Do what?”
Spencer doesn’t answer. He just does it—he finally, finally kisses you. And you know what?
There’s nothing make-believe about it.