Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He walked into the cafe, and stopped, for just a moment. There, behind the counter, refilling the macarons, stood the most breathtaking woman he’d ever seen. Her golden locks framing her face effortlessly; a pair of deep brown eyes with a shimmer of gold in them twinkling up at him. She greeted him, a polite smile on her perfect lips as she asked what he wanted to order.

As he read her name tag, he knew immediately that he’d found her. Finally. He tried to contain the look of pure joy that was spreading across his face, so as to not alarm her. Her.

No one would take her from him again.

—————

Olive looked up at the sound of the bell, grinning as she saw her favourite customer. The blonde walked up to the counter to pay, not even bothering reading out her order.

“Same as always?”

“You know it!” Penelope Garcia took the already prepared bag, filled with baked goods and coffee, and looked inside to check it was all there. “One black coffee for Emily… vanilla latte for me, caramel for Spencer… carrot cake and- oooooh, what is this!” She picked up the small extra box Olive had placed at the very bottom, under the cake.

“That’s a surprise. A favorite for my favorite, so to say.” She winked at her favourite customer, who was shorter than her even whilst wearing heels. Her style fits right in with the cafe, with the multitude of colors and patterns that went together in an almost eclectic way. But it worked better than most eclectic themed buildings, by a long shot.

“This is why I keep coming back. This- oh my god this smells delicious. Can I open it?” Olive chuckled at her obvious excitement. It wasn’t often that she gave out free treats, but Penelope came in every day, at the same time, without fail and ordered something. There were a handful of times she didn’t order the carrot cake or coffee to her coworkers, but almost always, she did. It was only fair they got something as well, if just this once.

“Of course you can, but it’ll stay warmer longer if it’s opened in the office.”

“True, should've thought about that. No matter, I will be making my journey back to headquarters then.” She carefully put the box back in the bag, picked it up and blew Olive a kiss before leaving the small cafe. It was the slow hour, so for the next few minutes, Olive was back to fixing the displays, patiently waiting for the next customer.

—————

She turned the hand painted sign on the door, showing that the cafe was now closed before going in the back to the kitchen and checking the dough for the following day. One of the newer hires, Allison, was there as well, making a batch of pancake batter for the following morning.

She nodded at the slightly younger woman, and checked over her shoulder that she did it 100% correctly. She had had a few bad employees before, it was always good to double check. It looked perfect, thankfully.

“Good job today, you can leave now. I’ll lock up.”

“Huh? Oh, thanks.” Allison nodded at her before taking off her apron and putting it back on the hanger. Olive was just going to go through everything one last time, then she was going to allow herself to go home.

She was going to shop for groceries. She was going to make herself something to eat once she got home. And she was going to ignore the feeling she had had lately, that someone was watching her. Because it was ridiculous and absolutely, 100%, not happening. Just paranoia, old memories haunting her. She told herself to take a deep breath, and go home.

Everything was fine.

—————

The walk back from the local grocery store was calm, the trees providing a beautiful scenery as she trotted down the street. Their silhouettes rose high, even against the tall street lamps that lit up their trunks and illuminated her steps.

Well, it felt calm. She still couldn’t shake the feeling, the paranoia, of someone watching her. But she continued telling herself that it was just her mind playing tricks on her, and that it’d done that before; it was the only consolation she had.

Soon enough, she was opening the door to her little apartment. A few cookbooks were strewn around, and in the middle of her living room stood her easel, barren of a canvas. She put down her grocery bag before organizing the books, rationalizing it by looking through them for recipes at the same time. She put on the radio and began cooking pasta, a small sigh escaping her lips. Glad that the anxiousness and paranoia that had been there, in the back of her mind, since childhood had yet again been proven wrong.

Chapter Text

Olive sat in her small living room, paintbrush in hand. She looked at the blank canvas and went over the possibilities of what she could make. Maybe sketch out an idea, freehand, oil or acrylics? Something to fit the weather…

She snapped out of her thoughts as her phone rang, making her put down the brush before deciding. Flipping the phone open, she mouthed a quick “I’ll be back for you” and focused on the ensuing conversation.

“What do you want.” It came out more sarcastically than she meant for it to be, but it didn’t really matter.

“Wow thanks, is that really the way you greet me nowadays?” Her sister answered, her tone much more relaxed than her answer indicated. “That bakery life catching up with you? Had to make too many cakes today? Poor Olive, she had to touch flour!”

“Sorry, no, I’m fine. Just surprised you called, seeing as nothing special is happening… like at all.”

“Do you think so low of your own baby sister, that she does not care for her favorite-“ “only”, Olive interjected. “- sister? Can’t I just call because I feel like it?”

“Viv. Seriously. Has something happened?”

“Noooooo…”

“Vivianne!”

“Fine! It’s not serious or anything, but I’m going to be in town in the next week or so. If you wanted to catch up.”

Olive took the phone away from her ear for a second, just to watch it dumbfoundedly before quickly replying.

“Darling, of course I’d want that. Why did you feel the need to be so dramatic?”

“I wasn’t being dramatic, you were. But that’s great, does Tuesday work? At like, three?”

“Yeah sure. You know how to get to the cafe, right?” She could practically hear the eye roll.

“Fucken obviously dude. Bye.”

“Bye-“ The beeping on the other end told her that Viv had not stayed long enough to hear her goodbye. Shrugging softly and smiling at the thought of seeing her sister again soon, she turned her attention back towards her painting. New inspiration had dawned, very suddenly.

—————

She was bored. There was no other way to describe it. There hadn’t been any customers in an hour and she had cleaned the whole cafe already. She would’ve cleaned the kitchen as well if not for the fact it’d get messy in two seconds flat, as well as multiple people already being in there. And she wasn’t the type to disturb her employees.

She debated putting her hair up in a ponytail for the fifth time, but knew that’d just mess with her waves. Besides, she liked it better down, and it wasn’t like she’d contaminate someone’s cupcake just by having hair. Although that was debatable, according to her friends. She was notorious for leaving long, blonde hairs everywhere they went, so much that Viv once said, quote, “you’d be impossible to kidnap. They’d find you by following the trail of hair leading right to where they’re keeping you.”

The bell and the sound of chitchat broke her from her thoughts. It was the same time as always, but she had been so distracted by nothing happening that she forgot the time, ironically enough.

“Penelope! Same as always?”

“You know it, hot stuff!” She shot a smile her way before talking to the two women she was accompanied by. “Oh! By the way, these are my two co-workers, Emily and Jennifer.” She pointed at the blonde and brunette beside her. Olive greeted them with a wave of her hand before turning around and making the coffee.

“I’m telling you, you have to try the croissants. They’re heavenly.” She could hear Penelope boasting behind her and she just had to smile into the cup of vanilla latte. And so, she decided to go a bit extra on the latte art, just because.

“How did you even find this, Garcia? It’s really tucked away.”

“Not really relevant if you ask me, I just did. Now, are any of you going to order anything or…”

“Excuse me! Hi.” Olive turned around as tactfully as she could, holding the coffee. It was the brunette, Emily? That was the name Penelope said, right?

“Yes! What would you like?” She put the latte in the to-go bag before reaching for the carrot cake.

“I think I’ll have a… what’s a Swedish pancake?”

“Oh, it’s just a flatter, less fluffy pancake. It’s a tradition in Sweden to eat them on Thursdays, so we usually serve them here. On Thursdays.” She scolded herself in her head, seeing as that didn’t need clarification. “Did you want a serving, to go?”

“No, I already ate lunch. I’ll have a croissant then… Olivia?” Emily looked at her face with an almost apprehensive look, as though reading her name tag was something foreign for her.

“No problem! Although, you can call me Olive. Everyone does.” She finished Penelope’s order before giving Emily her croissant and black coffee that she so kindly asked to pay for herself, instead of giving Penelope money later. The trio headed out soon after and she was, yet again, alone in the main area. She sighed and cleaned the counter for the third time that hour before going into the kitchen and checking how they were doing.

—————

She had just showered after she got home, looking at recipes whilst drying her hair and making sure the pages didn’t get wet. Humming along to the song on the radio, she carefully put out the needed ingredients before turning on the stove. She wandered from the kitchen towards her bathroom, taking a few seconds to admire the half finished painting in her living room. It was oil colors, and the smell from the turpentine she used to clean her brushes had the usual stench that she could never seem to ignore. But still, the simplicity of the painting, the green and blue that made up land and sky, and the still orange under color that was going to become clouds, made her stop. It portrayed that soft feeling of love so easily, without being in your face. She was actually really proud of this one. Maybe she could hang it in the cafe.

She left the towel in the bathroom and made her way back to the kitchen, still humming along to the generic pop song on the radio. The last remnants of sunlight danced in through her windows and she felt like truly, she couldn’t feel better. It was absolute peace.

Chapter Text

Spencer didn’t know what he had expected when Penelope asked him to accompany her to the cafe she always visited. He, at the very least, didn’t expect it to be down the street from his apartment building. It was very flowery, pastel, and even the windows had seemingly hand painted patterns ranging from flowers and nature, to stars and moons, and finally baked goods. It fit together really nicely, he had to admit. As they stepped in, he registered the name written on the door: The Romantic Bakery. Complete with swirling patterns surrounding the logo, and something reminiscent of a locomotive underneath. Not quite, it was more the outline of the pillar of smoke usually associated with locomotives, rather than the actual train. 

There wasn’t anyone by the counter when they stepped in, but soon a young woman came out of the kitchen from the sound of the bell. She beamed at Penelope, her round brown eyes not even registering him at first.

“The usual?”

“As always!” Penelope rummaged around in her satchel, finding her credit card and handing it to the cashier. “This is Dr. Spencer Reid, another one of my coworkers.”

The blonde woman, with a name tag telling him her name was Olivia, looked up at him and gave him a quick smile before turning back to Penelope. “Are you introducing your whole team to me? Are they as loyal customers as you, perhaps?”

“Oh yeah I’m going to introduce everyone to this place. You have the best coffee in town, easily.” Olivia’s cheeks blushed slightly, she clearly valued Penelope’s opinion. She turned towards him again, with a much more professional customer service smile. She changed her expression really easily. Did she possibly have a background in acting?

“Would you like something as well, Spencer?” She tilted her head slightly, leaning on the counter. Relaxed.

“No, not really. Penelope basically dragged me with her, she thinks I’ve been too focused on the latest case and not getting enough sunshine.”

“Case? Are you like, a cop?”

“No, FBI.”

“Oooooh, okay. I’ve never asked Penelope what she does, I guess I assumed… well, anything but the FBI.” The coffee machine whirred and she went to prep the latte, but continued asking. “Are you a field agent? Because my guess is that Penelope isn’t.”

He chuckled slightly. “Yeah, I am. Penelope is our technical analyst, one of the best in the country.” At the mention, Penelope swatted his arm.

“Oh you.” Right as she said it, the bell rang and a couple walked in, looking around the room for a second before standing in line behind them.

“It’s true! The only reason we managed to recruit her is because she basically gave herself up.”

“That’s an exaggeration-“

“Again, it is very much not.” 

Olivia handed him his latte, before giving Penelope her bag and waving them goodbye, already greeting the next customer. As they made their way back, Penelope could hardly contain herself from talking. Probably due to the caffeine.

“So, what did you think?”

“Of the cafe? It’s lovely.”

“No, silly, of her. Olive.” 

“… Olivia?

“Nobody calls her Olivia. Anyway, what did you think of her?” Had he been staring? Wasn’t it normal to look at your barista, especially as they talked with you?

He pondered the question for a moment, wondering what answer she wanted. “She seems nice. But you can’t really tell that from how someone acts with their customers, since it’s usually a facade-“

“I know that! I’ve gone there everyday for the past few months, I can tell the difference between her with me and her with other customers. She isn’t fake, I know that much.”

“Well then, she seemed nice.”

—————

Gave herself up? What had Penelope done that not only made the FBI hunt her, but also recruit her after finding her? She had just served another customer and thought about Spencer's word choice.

She moved on rather quickly, going back to the kitchen before hearing the bell again. Composing herself with a sigh and putting on her customer service smile, she walked out again, just to see Penelope barging in for the second time that day. A rarity for her.

“Hi again?”

“Hi! So, this might be inappropriate seeing as this is where you work and all, but I’ve wondered for a while if you’d like to get together with me and the girls for like a girls night out.” Olive must’ve looked really surprised, eyes staring and mouth slightly agape, since Penelope quickly started explaining herself. “I know that you’re like, probably not picturing us as friends but you just seem so lovely. And no I’m not doing this for a discount, and you are totally free to say no-“

“I’d love to, really, I was just taken by surprise. And by the girls, you mean..?”

“Those two other women I brought in here yesterday, JJ and Emily.”

“JJ is Jennifer, I assume?”

“Yes! So, you’d like to hang out with us tonight?”

“I- sure, I don’t really have plans. I can give you my number…”

“Perfect, I’ll call you at like, 9 or something. We’ll figure out the details, don't worry.”

“I won't.” She chuckled. It had been a while since she last went out, especially with new people. It’d be fun, probably. Right?

—————

Olive looked at herself in the mirror. She was wearing heels, a black minidress and an oversized leather jacket. She had also put on some more dramatic eyeliner and some lipgloss, as well as extra concealer under her eyes. She was currently debating putting her hair up in a ponytail, before deciding that down was better. She had just gotten the call from Penelope that they were at a bar not far from there, called The Rocks. She’d never been but chuckled at the name, murmuring “whiskey at the rocks” under her breath. It wasn’t even funny, but it made the usual nervousness of going out seem smaller.

She took a deep breath in, looked at herself one last time in the mirror, grabbed her keys and went out the door. She was going to enjoy herself, that much she had decided. Besides, what could go wrong? It was just drinking with three women she didn’t know that well, that happened to be FBI agents.

Chapter Text

So, as it turns out, there were not three FBI agents at the Rocks.

There were 5.

She walked over to the table where she recognized 4 of the people, another man that she hadn’t seen before sitting there as well.

“Hi, uhm, sorry, am I intruding?”

“Obviously not!”

“It just… wasn’t it only supposed to be you, Emily and Jennifer?”

“Call me JJ.” The other blonde woman smiled at her, and she did her best to smile genuinely back. This had thrown her right out of her comfort zone, making the ball of anxiety grow tenfold in her chest.

“It was, but then Derek heard and he invited Spencer as well. And I couldn’t say no, I mean, look at this face.” She gestured a bit wildly at the man’s, Dereks, face. She had to agree that he was attractive, but she still raised an eyebrow at it. It was clear they had been drinking before she got there. Why did they invite her if they were going to change the plans this drastically? Did… did they even want her here? Was this some kind of really, really weird prank?

“I’m ordering another round. What would you like?”

“Oh, just a beer. Thanks.” The brunette, Emily, walked off, zig-zagging through the crowd like she was a professional. Maybe they taught you that at the academy as well.

“Sit! You can take the spot next to Spencer.” Penelope guided her down, and whispered gently in her ear. “Ask him anything and I guarantee, he will know it.”

“I… will make sure to do that. How long were you guys here, before I came?”

Penelope giggled before answering. “Not that long, like 20 minutes? Or that was when we called you, so now it’s been closer to 40. Maybe. Around that long.” She was even more expressive whilst tipsy, squinting her eyes one at a time, as though it hurt to think too much and about details. Olive had to giggle at it, she seemed to be a joy anywhere she went.

“Ah, maybe I should properly introduce myself to everyone. I’m Olive, I work at the cafe that Penelope goes to everyday.”

“Oh we know, she won’t shut up about how good the coffee is. And for that matter, the cookies. What did you put in those things?” Derek leaned slightly over the table to talk to her, shooting her a playful smile.

“You liked them!? Oh, thank you.” Emily had appeared with the drinks and after giving her the beer, sat down next to JJ. She grabbed the beer and sipped on it. Tolerable, but she wasn’t going for a tastier drink and getting drunk in the first twenty minutes of knowing these people. “I would tell you, but then I’d lose business. Better to just keep it a family secret, and make you buy them instead.”

“Smart business model.”

“I'm pretty sure that’s just basic marketing. Maybe if you buy them enough times you’ll guess the recipe!”

“I’m not falling for that.” His attention was split when some woman on the dance floor looked his way, and he quickly excused himself to go dance with her. Fair enough response.

She looked around the bar. It wasn’t that full, considering it was a Friday evening in the middle of September. She’d expected to barely find them, but instead there were groups of people scattered around the different tables. As always there were more people standing at the bar, waiting to catch the bartenders’ attention or just chatting, but it wasn’t an assault into your personal space like most bars were. She took another small sip before turning to Spencer.

“So, you’re a doctor?”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, Penelope introduced you as Dr Spencer Reid today.”

“Oh, yeah, I have three PhD’s in-“

“Three?” She said, a bit too loud. “Sorry, shouldn’t be yelling, but three?!?” She half whispered the last two words and he laughed at her shocked expression.

“Yeah.”

“But, how?”

“Well, you just, do it.”

“I can barely manage a cafe, you think I can just get three PhDs on a whim?” He laughed again, taking a small sip of his wine. He did seem like a wine guy. “Are you like, a genius?”

“On technicality, yes, but I don’t believe that you can quantify one’s intelligence and ascribe a label to it. But I can read 20,000 words per minute-“

“Per minute?!” She half whispered again, into the rim of her beer glass. “That feels excessive.”

“Not when you like reading.”

“Touché.” She wasn’t sure what to ask next, so she was ready to let the conversation fall into an easy silence.

“So, do you have other hobbies than baking?”

“Sorry?” She wasn’t expecting a question and needed a minute to prepare an answer. She wasn’t exactly tipsy, but his question caught her off guard and she simultaneously realised how cute he was. His brown hair that reached just below his jawline, brown eyes and nice smile that somehow complimented his bone structure made him look like a piece of art, almost. What a strange thought to have. Also, he asked you a question.

“Oh I was just wondering if you have other interests than baking.”

“I do actually! Um, I have basic sewing skills. Which mostly entails really easy embroidery nowadays… and I like to paint, as well.” She didn’t feel like mentioning her ten other hobbies that all had something to do with making stuff with her hands, but he had read her like a book, with the reading speed of 20,000 words per minute.

“Did you, by any chance, do theater or acting?”

“How the fuck did you know.”

“I’m a profiler, that’s what we do.”

“A profiler?”

“We hunt criminals based on psychology.”

“Oooooh, that’s what you do at the FBI? That’s actually so cool. And yeah, I used to do acting.” She bit her lip and looked up at him, seemingly just about to say something before Penelope interrupted her thoughts.

“You did theater?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s so cool! I do-“ she looked at Spencer, who looked at her with an almost quizzical expression and beckoned Olive closer. She whispered into her ear once again. “I do theater too, but like now. It’s so fun.”

“It is! I stopped at around 11, unfortunately.” She whispered back, slightly giggling when she saw how confused Spencer was at the interaction. He looked across the table, trying to catch the other women’s attention, but they were seemingly in a really deep conversation about something else and didn’t take note of him. He shrugged and looked back at them, fake disappointment across his face.

“I don’t get to know your secret, but bakery girl does?”

Olive and Penelope both faked an incredulous look, complete with a hand on their chest and a loud gasp. “She’s not just some bakery girl, she’s… what’s your last name?”

“Berg-Smith.”

“She’s Olive Berg-Smith! Put some respect on her name!”

“Okay, sorry, didn’t know it was that serious.” Spencer laughed out.

“I’m incredibly offended. Might as well pack up and go home, never to return.” She delivered it as deadpan as she could, but you could hear the smile in her voice.

The anxiousness was practically gone after the first half hour of being there. Penelope was right, you could ask Spencer anything and he knew it from the top of his head. He explained it away by saying he had an eidetic memory, but he couldn’t help the blush slowly creeping onto his cheeks as she stared at him in amazement. Although he blamed that more so on the alcohol.

“- so really, Descartes' saying of “I think, therefore I am” is a perfect summarisation of rationalism. He’s not just saying that he exists because he thinks, he is also saying that the only thing he can trust exists is himself. Everything else can be a hoax but he exists, because he thinks. That’s the only thing he can fully prove.” Olive nodded along, fully accepting his explanation.

“Did you know that Descartes actually died in Sweden?”

“I did, actually.”

“Yeah, it’s actually kinda funny in hindsight. It’s said that Sweden’s only contribution to philosophy is killing him. Or, well, my mom says that.” She giggled slightly. “In a way, we proved rationalism wrong, y’know? Because if like, the cold kills you, that means that the cold is real, and that means everything else is also real.”

“Yes! It’s interesting because rationalism was a legitimate way to conduct scientific research during the baroque, but nowadays we associate it with philosophy. And-“

“Hey, nerds, would any of you consider buying another round?” Derek’s voice cut through their conversation. She looked at the clock on the wall, and saw that it was way later than she anticipated it being.

“Yeah, I would, but I should probably head home soon.”

“Why, you have something to do tomorrow?”

“Technically, it’s today, and no. I’m just tired.” She shot Derek a look that he just smiled at and waved off. She stood up and gathered her purse and jacket, and was just about to leave when she tensed up.

“Hey, you ok?”

“Yeah I’m fine just… would someone mind walking me back to my apartment? It’s really late and you know how the metro is…”

Spencer stood up and put on his own jacket, nodding towards her before anyone else had the chance to really register her question.

“Oh, I mean, if you want to stay that’s fine, I just-“

“No worries, just give me a minute and we’ll be right out.”

They said goodbye to everyone before heading out, the night much colder than she had anticipated. She clutched her leather jacket closer to herself as they walked, staring at the night sky with only a few visible stars.

“Would you like to know a secret?”

“Sure.” She answered, looking at the man she’d basically spent the evening with.

“I left not to be chivalrous, but because that means I won’t have to pay.” She snorted, head tipping forward to cover her expression. He laughed a bit himself as they walked, him being basically sober compared to her. Not that she had drank a lot, but two beers as well as the excitement of getting to know new people did have the effect of making her seem drunker than she was.

“That’s just being smart. Oooh right, you’re a genius, that’s your specialty.” She feigned irritation, rolling her eyes. It got a laugh and a tight lipped smile out of him, so her awful imitation was worth it.

—————

He watched her from a distance, as she walked home with the tall brunette. She stopped outside a building, much too regular for a star such as herself. She deserved the most magical of castles, the best of meals. And he could give it to her, if she just let him.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he watched her hug the man goodnight, before taking out her phone and pointing at it. The man took it in his own hand, obviously putting in his phone number. She deserved better than him, he looked like a bean pole. He wouldn’t protect her, couldn’t protect her, like he could. And someday, she’d know that. Just not right now.

She waved him goodbye, before entering a code and walking inside. He lost sight of her for a moment, but soon enough her apartment lit up and he watched her again, for the last time that night. through her window. He savoured the moments he could catch of her, as she brushed her hair and jammed to music he couldn’t hear.

Too soon, she turned off the light and went to sleep. But he was patient, and he’d come back tomorrow. And however many nights before he was ready to go up to her again.

Chapter Text

She woke up at 8 am, which was usual for her. What was not usual was her excitedness to get up and get moving. Today was Tuesday, which meant Vivianne visiting, which meant she could gossip! She had had stuff actually happen to her for once, and she was swelling with excitement of telling her sister about it.

They were actually really close, and had been throughout all their childhood. Viv was three years younger than her, which meant that when Olive had gone to college they had been a bit less dependent on each other, but it didn’t change the bond they had. It was unbreakable at this point.

She went to the door to pick up her mail, noting the rose colored letter that sat at the top. It was addressed to her, but…

Her blood started pumping. It was a name she didn’t go by anymore, not since childhood. One only the public knew her as, and only when she was a child. She ripped the letter open, looking for a return address anywhere, but there was none.

This was hand delivered.

She was lightly panicking, treading around her apartment as she read the fan letter.

Dear Greta, you look as lovely as you did 14 years ago. Dare I say, you’re even more gorgeous now.

How have you been? Thinking of starring in any more movies? I’d love to watch them. Whatever you make, I will watch. Don’t you worry.

Or maybe that’s too much pressure after not acting for all these years. Maybe start with a play. I could get you onto Broadway, if you want to. All you have to do is ask, sweetheart.

Your number one fan, always.

No, no, absolutely not, this was NOT happening. Not again. Not again, please not again. She could feel her panic setting in, and she felt the need to puke. Instead, she tried composing herself and went to her closet. She focused on the soles of her feet hitting the floor - one, two, one, two. She pulled out an old pair of running shoes. It was better than nothing to take her mind of things - running helped. Running would help. It had to.

She focused on her body as she changed - arms up, arms down, legs tensed, jumping up and down. Her feet hit the floor again - one, two, one, two. She went out the door.

—————

She returned from her run about a half hour later. She had terrible stamina and didn’t last long before being out of breath, even though her fight or flight response helped with keeping her motivated, for lack of a better term. She made sure that she locked her door before showering, finally ready to start her day.

About one and a half hours later she was at the cafe, ready to check in with how everything was going and how people were doing. She greeted Allison, who was the cashier for today, and went into the kitchen to grab an apron. She couldn’t quite get her mind off of the letter, but she pushed it as far back as she could. Putting on her best false smile, she want out of the kitchen and helped Allison with the orders. 

“Penelope got hit on by a guy this morning.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t hear what they were talking about but he was absolutely hitting on her.”

“Was he cute?”

“Yeah, like, really stereotypically handsome. And she seemed into him as well.”

“Oooh, how lovely then!’

“Yeah, but…”

“But.. what?”

“No, nothing. It was nothing.” Allison shrugged off whatever thought she had had, and Olive didn’t feel like pushing it. She fixed the display, making sure everything was properly sorted before asking Allison if she could bring back the dishes and put them in the machine. Allison nodded and went off into the other rooms, sure to bring back heaps of plates and mugs. Olive sighed, putting her head in her hands before yet again composing herself when a new customer walked in.

“Surprise!” She should’ve seen it coming from a mile away, honestly. Of course she was early.

Her sister, ever so stylish in a pair of low rise skinny jeans, converse and black hoodie probably stolen from her boyfriend, seeing as it was maybe three sizes too big on her. She also had a pair of big sunglasses on, and her wavy blonde hair had chunky brown highlights (a new addition that looked really good, she had to admit) had been put up in a high ponytail.

“Of course you’re 5 hours early, what else was I supposed to expect?” She said, as Vivanne took off her glasses and put them in her tote bag.

“I couldn’t wait to see you, I’m so sorry that you have such a nice and wonderful sister-“

“Yeah yeah, just wait a second.” She hopped over the counter, stalking over and hugging her slightly shorter sister. She noted the height difference with a smug smile, before pulling away and kissing her on the forehead. “So, what’s new?”

“A lot of stuff.”

“Which means..?” She hopped back over the counter, putting on the coffee machine in order to make two lattes. She swiped her own card whilst listening.

“Wellllllll…” She stalled, moving from foot to foot. “I’m going to be directing a movie-“

“WHAT?!?” She whipped around as fast as humanly possible, unfortunately being loud enough that Allison poked her head out of the kitchen. “Sorry, it’s nothing important. You can go back to work. What?!?” She responded in a much more appropriate tone.

Viv was jumping up and down on the spot, practically shining with excitement. “I know!!”

Olive called for someone to take her place at the register, before taking the lattes as well as two croissants for them to have. It wasn’t stealing if it was your bakery, right?

She led Viv into another room, with Rococo inspired furniture. The room was the only other one with any windows so she placed herself there, sipping at her coffee and looking expectantly at her sister.

“So, what’s it called?”

“Okay so, it’s not a big project or anything-“

“Honey, it’s a whole movie. It could be a short film and I’d still consider it a big project!” Viv grinned from ear to ear, blushing in the same way she had done at thirteen when she told Olive that her crush had asked her out. The sheer glee on her face lighted up the whole room, and the smile only got bigger as she bit into the croissant.

“These are so good. Anyway, it’s more of an indie movie. I want to experiment, y’know? Find my own style, not just be a copy of dear old dad.”

Ah, their dad. He was a successful, but not that famous, movie director. Their mother was a successful, a bit more famous, actress. They had met when she landed the lead role in one of his movies, and he liked to say that she was his muse from that point on. They had wanted both of their daughters to have a head start in the industry, making them both do theatre since the age of three. Olive had actually starred in a few of her fathers movies, whilst Viv had always been more interested in being by his side as he directed.

Then Olive landed a few roles outside of her fathers movies, and they wanted to protect her anonymity, even if it was just slightly. So the public knew her as Greta Berg, her middle name and only one of their hyphenated last names. She had been quite successful in the three years she was an official child actress, but quickly pulled out of the spotlight at 11. Their parents always respected her decision, never once questioning her on whether she would like to go back into it, but sometimes when she visited LA she could see the longing in their eyes. That one daughter got into the industry, it would be so fun if the other one did as well.

“Yeah, I get that. But again, what is it called?”

“Creation of Venus.”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

“Nope.” Viv was grinning again.

“Isn’t that just slightly egotistical?” She got her arm swatted for that one.

“Excuse you? I’m basing my first ever movie on Roman mythology and paintings, which, last I checked, history and art were your interests, were they not?”

“Yeah yeah, whatever.”

“What I’m saying is, sure, It’s going to be my creative baby, but the essence came from you. And all those fucking stories you wouldn’t shut up about at thirteen years old.”

She knew it was meant to be a playful jab, but she couldn’t even pretend to be irritated at it. The fact that she had been thought about in this whole, long process, was enough to make tears well up in her eyes.

“Jesus, are you crying? Are you-“

“I’m fine, you’re just… I’m so proud of you!” She was waving her hands in front of her eyes, tilting her head up so as to not make the tears ruin her mascara.

“Stop it, you’re gonna make me cry!” She tilted her head down and saw that Viv was, in fact, crying as well. She was even doing the same thing of trying not to cry, which made Olive sob even harder. She stood up from her seat and hugged Viv, hard.

“That is, without a doubt, the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. Like, the movie is made in my honor?”

“Basically, yeah.” Viv dried her tears on the arm of the hoodie before smiling up at her. She hugged her once again before moving back to her seat, probably red faced as all hell.

They talked a bit more about the movie, before Viv started asking about her own social life. Since she had had the same boyfriend since she was 19 and a stable friend group since middle school, she was always fascinated by Olive's ever changing friend group and short lived relationships. It was then that she brought up the BAU and her new FBI friends.

“You have a bunch of friends that work for the FBI?”

“I wouldn’t say a bunch, I’ve talked extensively with only like, two of them.”

“You have two FBI agents as your friends?”

“I think that technically, only one is an agent.”

“That doesn’t matter, it’s still fucking cool.”

“Right! The field agent, Spencer-“ she stopped, registering the face her sister made. “Don’t you dare.”

“You did the thing.”

“I did not do ‘the thing’.”

“You so did. Is he cute?”

“Viv-“

“Is. He. Cute?”

“Yea, fine, sure. But Viv, he’s a genius. Like literally, he has three PhDs.” Viv whistled and leaned back into her seat.

“So you could be a housewife if you two got married? Wouldn’t even have to worry about money.”

“Viv, seriously, I’ve talked to the guy like twice.”

“But you think he’s cute.”

“He’s- fine, I do. But that’s not important actually, because the other girl? She was apparently hunted by the FBI, but she was so good that they recruited her instead of sending her to prison. She’s their technical analyst now.”

“Someone should make a movie about that. Can I reserve the rights, actually?” Olive giggled, relieved that Viv had let the Spencer thing go so quickly.

“Ask her yourself. She often comes in at the exact same time everyday, which is in like… shoot, ten minutes. If you want to meet her, of course?”

“Are you kidding me? Of course I want that.”

So they went back to the main room of the bakery, sipping on their coffee and continuing to talk about anything and everything. Like clockwork, Penelope showed up for her second round of coffee.

“The usual?”

“No, just my latte. And the carrot cake.” She turned toward Vivianne. She wasn’t her usual chirpy self, having a very stressed aura around her. Still, she was polite when turning toward Viv. “And who might you be?”

“Her sister, Vivianne.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“You got a case?”

“Yeah, and it’s a bad one. Actually, skip the carrot cake, just give me the coffee.”

“Okay, got it.” She slipped behind the counter quickly, readying up the order. She made it as fast as she could, since Penelope was tapping her foot impatiently. Not in a rude way, more so like she was incredibly stressed about something, probably the case.

“So, guy asked you out here?”

“Yep, really handsome, thank you and goodbye. To you too.” She waved and hurried out, much unlike her usual fashion.

“So… that was Penelope.”

“Wow.”

“She’s not usually like that, she’s usually really nice.”

“I don’t doubt it, just sad that the only time I meet her she… has an extremely bad day or something.” Viv turned back towards her after having faced the door. “Är det verkligen bra för dig att ha massa vänner som konstant är stressade över mord och förföljelser? Du vet, med tanke på…” She cocked her head from side to side, knowing that Olive would pick up exactly what she was talking about.

”Kan vi inte prata om det, snälla? Jag-” It was a really horrible coincidence that Viv talked about her past traumas with stalkers the day she got a fan letter. She debated talking about the letter, but decided that it was probably nothing, and not worth bringing up. Please let it be nothing. She didn’t want to be the Boy who cried wolf, especially since it was one letter. One letter after 15 years of no letters isn't that big of a deal, usually.

Although, she was surprised that Viv switched to Swedish. They had often done it as kids when they didn’t want anyone at school to know what they were talking about, but using it the same way as adults? Touché.

“Okay, fine.” Viv switched back, indicating that the serious talk was over. She probably saw how tense Olive became at the thought of her past. The atmosphere was horrible, really.

“Well, anyway, you staying for dinner?”

“Like I would ever pass up your cooking.”

Chapter Text

Two days later, Penelope didn’t show up. Olive was looking at the clock when she saw a frazzled Spencer enter, clearly panicking over something.

“Has something happened?”

“Penelope has been shot.”

That was the last thing she expected to hear, and she just stared at him for a second, before whispering out a barely audible, “What?”

“Yeah, and she said that she met the guy here. Do you remember him?”

“Oh my god… Allison!” She remembered that she had talked about some guy clearly flirting with Penelope, maybe it was him.

“What?” Allison came out of the kitchen, gloves still on her hands.

“Penelope has been shot. The guy she was talking to a few days ago might be a suspect. Do you remember what he looked like?” It was a lot to dump on her all at once, but Spencer was clearly stressed and they didn’t really have time to spare.

“I- uh, yeah, I do. Could you-“ she motioned with her hands and Olive took the gloves off, putting them on herself.

“Go, you’ll get a paid day off.” She shooed Allison away, and headed back to the kitchen. It hadn’t even really dawned on her yet that Penelope was hurt, just that the situation was urgent and they needed to catch the criminal.

The panic set in right after she took the buns out of the oven. She went into the rococo themed room, needing the pastel and light to make her feel like life wasn’t a never ending misery. Penelope had been shot . And the fucking shooter had used her coffee shop as a way to lure her in.

 The panic disappeared, and was replaced by anger. Because Spencer would have noted it, said something, if Penelope’s condition was critical he would have said so. Not to mention he said she told him she met him here. And now, Allison was a witness, so she was down on a barista.

The son of a bitch shot her friend. And took away her best barista.

—————

“Hey, did they tell you anything? Are there any leads yet?” Olive had just called Allison for a check up, and figured that was the most important question as of now.

“They seem to be searching for some guy, apparently he’s a dirty cop or something? That’s all I heard honestly.” Allison’s voice was shaky, and she was clearly distressed over the whole situation. No one could blame her for that, really. It must be incredibly stressful.

“How are you holding up?”

“Me? Oh I’m fine.”

“No, really. If you want to take a few days off of work I completely understand, this must be incredibly stressful on you.” 

“I- I guess that could help. But honestly I just want it to be over and for things to go back to normal.” She heard Allison sigh, and it took a minute before she spoke again, voice barely a whisper. “Why Penelope?”

“I don’t know honestly. I wish I did.” She had tears in her eyes, from stress and just from thinking how painful it must be to be shot. She hadn’t been told much, which was reasonable, but still irritating. She wanted to know how Penelope felt, how she was doing, if a cupcake would make her feel better. Instead, she didn’t even know where she was.

It made her question the bond they had formed. Sure, it hadn’t been that long since they officially went out and had interactions that weren’t distracting from a transaction. But still, she had visited the coffee shop everyday for almost 6 months, and it didn’t feel like those 6 months were nothing. They had a fragile, very new friendship, but it was there.

Wasn’t it there?

Just before she got lost in her own thoughts again, someone called on her from the kitchen and she went to help out. She helped make icing for a new batch of cupcakes and was just about to help Jeremy, the other employee on shift, before her phone started ringing. Excusing herself and going out to the counter, seeing as this was the slow hour with little to no guests there, she finally picked up the phone.

“Penelope? Is that you?”

“Yes, hi, how are ya?”

“I- I’m good, actually, I think your situation is more dire to talk about.”

“Oh no I’m fine, I’ll probably be out of here in a few days. I’m just sick of only hearing profilers and their stupid victimology talk, and I desperately needed to talk to someone who’s normal. So, how is it going?”

Olive breathed out and made a noise akin to smacking her lips before answering. “Could be better, could have my most competent barista here, my favorite customer, and overall a few more customers because I’m bored. Otherwise, good.”

“Awww, am I your favorite customer?”

“Obviously, not everyone fits that well into the cafe’s aesthetic, but you were practically made for it. Also, no one else is as good of a regular as you.”

“Really?!” She sounded excited at the mere thought of being someone’s favourite. “Does that mean that I’ll get something for free next time I come in?”

“It’d be my treat.” She smiled into the phone, seeing a potential customer walking towards the storefront.

“Yess, only benefit of being shot.”

“Are you suggesting it’s a pity prize?”

“Yeah, duh, what else could it be?”

“That’s true. Hey, I have a customer, I’ll call you right back, okay?”

“Oh sure! Bye bye for now.”

They hung up and Olive put on her customer service smile for the customer that just walked in. He murmured when ordering his Americano, making the transaction just a few seconds longer which annoyed Olive greatly. She had a friend to talk to, however unprofessional it may be.

The man sat himself in a far corner, not going into any of the themed rooms, and Olive quickly sent a message to Penelope that there were bound to be more customers soon and they could talk later in the evening.

And with that, she went into the kitchen again to help Jeremy with the cupcakes. 

—————

When she got home from the bakery, the feeling of worry had subsided by a great amount. She was still on edge, but it wasn’t like Penelope was in danger anymore, and the BAU seemed to have a lead on the guy. She rubbed her temples, noticing a headache setting in, and decided that she didn’t have the energy to cook today. She quickly ordered a pizza from a local shop before throwing herself on her couch.

She didn’t feel like watching tv though, and her attention was drawn towards the still unfinished painting sitting on her easel. The paint still wasn’t fully dried, as to be expected with oil paints, but it was probably dried enough for her to work on more after eating. The delivery guy came just ten minutes later, and she put on some music to distract herself from the stress of everything. She put away her phone and just stared into space for a minute, solemnly taking bites out of the pizza.

It was very possible that befriending a bunch of FBI agents was, in fact, going to be the worst thing she’d ever done, just like Viv predicted.

Chapter Text

It had been a few weeks since Penelope was shot, and the team was currently out of cases. As soon as she got back she had been even more motivated and faster at her job, giving the rest of the team just a few days off for the moment. The reason was unknown, although his own theory was that she had her own agenda for getting some time off. 

So when Spencer woke up this monday morning, at the usual time his alarm went off, he realized he could sleep in. Unfortunately, he wasn’t good at that, so instead he decided to laze around in his apartment, reading books he hadn’t gone through yet. As the clock was nearing 8, he realized he still hadn’t had breakfast, that the time had slipped away from him when he had read.

Weighing his options for just a moment, he remembered that the Romantic Bakery was just down the street. He hadn’t really forgotten, in fact, it was one of the only things he had regularly thought about for the last couple weeks.

It wouldn’t exactly hurt to eat breakfast there, would it?

—————

Olive was always early on Mondays, something she very much prided herself on. It was a fun habit she picked up right around the time she moved to Washington, since she opened the bakery. She usually tried out new recipes during weekends and was way too excited to see if they would be a success for the following week, which resulted in her coming in extra early to get everything ready. Even though now, she didn’t always make specials for the week, the habit stayed and she used the extra time to clean up instead.

This specific Monday, she was surprised by the sight of her friend during said cleaning time. And not the usual friend that ordered here, but a taller, more brunette one.

“Spencer, hi!” She continued cleaning the table, although it was basically spotless at this point, just to have something to do. “Would you like something to eat?”

“What would you recommend?”

“The most expensive option.” She gave him a quick smile and a wink, laughing at the almost pained expression he made. “That was a joke, I promise. Uhm, for breakfast, I’d probably recommend a sandwich, the cheese baguette is the best one, and probably a cup of coffee. But if you feel like it, a cookie on top of that is always a really nice way to top it off. If you’re asking me, of course, and I love everything sweet.”

“I would have never guessed.” He smiled back, gesturing towards the bakery she ran and owned. “Could’ve sworn you were a health nut.”

“I know, right? Now, would you like breakfast or not?” 

“I’d love your suggestion.” He paid for a latte and baguette, and sat himself down in a small booth facing the counter. She brought it over, along with two small cookies resembling 4 chess squares. “I didn’t-“

“I know you didn’t order a cookie, but I do recall you telling me about how good you are at chess, and also I love these. Wanted an excuse to eat one myself.” She took a bite out of one chess-cookie, before swiping away the leftover crumbs from her lips.

“So, why are you here? Don’t you have a case or something?”

“Actually, we finished the most urgent ones faster than usual since Penelope returned. So Hotch gave us two extra days off, today and tomorrow.”

“Wow, nice boss. Wish I had one like that.”

“Aren’t you your own boss?” She opened her mouth in fake offense.

“Are my jokes that unfunny, that they aren’t even registering as jokes?” He smiled but didn’t laugh, and she sighed dramatically.

“Where’s the humor though? You delivered it so flatly.”

“It’s my theater experience, I can deadpan anything. I’m blaming that.”

“Do you remember your weirdest lines? I’ve always assumed that sticks with you.” He leaned back in the booth, his hand on the table right next to the coffee cup.

“Uh, unfortunately not. It’s been a long while… but you could just watch the movies and see-“

“Movies?”

She froze up for a moment, and her cheeks began to blush. She hadn’t even realized she had let it slip. It was something to brag about, which is why she hated talking about it. She never seemed to be able to bring it up naturally and now, she had, and she was just slightly mortified with herself.

“Yeah, uhm… I was a child actress.”

“What? That is so cool!”

“Yeah, if you discount the bad parts.” She laughed, mostly at herself, because she was now stuck between wanting to tell him everything she liked about acting and the feeling of being on set, and the really bad parts that still haunted her, the parts that wrote her letters. “I wasn’t like, famous, but I was in a few well received films. Or maybe my parents lied to me about that, I’ve never checked them out afterwards.”

“Would you like to tell me about them?”

“I could talk about them for hours, actually.” She smiled up at him. “I wouldn’t even really know where to start, because it honestly feels like I’d have to tell you about my whole life. Like, my family is in the industry, and I often traveled with my mom and dad when they were shooting movies before ever being in one myself. I don’t think I have a single memory from before the age of ten that doesn’t somehow involve cameras or costumes or being on stage…” she sighed with content, looking over at the counter where Jeremy was currently dealing with the customers. “But I probably shouldn’t dump everything on you during breakfast, whilst I’m technically working.”

She looked at Spencer again, and the intensity of his gaze, his brown eyes looking deep into her own as he listened intently, made her blush. He was leaning on the table, hand curled around the coffee cup that he had emptied halfway through her ramble. When he noticed she had stopped talking, he promptly leaned back into his seat again, giving her a small smile.

“Sounds like you really liked it.”

“I did! It was really fun.”

“So why did you stop?” It was an innocent question, and he only asked out of curiosity. But it brought back the terrifying memory of being on set one day, getting into costume for a minor role in a movie, and seeing security rush towards her room. She didn’t get what was happening, since she was only eleven, but the big guy stood outside her room for the coming week, following her around the studio as well as escorting her even when her parents were around.

It was only later she found out a random guy had broken into the studio, asking high and low for her. Someone found it weird and called him out, at which point he tried to make a run for her dressing room before realizing it was pointless and swiftly disappearing. They never caught him.

Spencer had noticed how her face froze up and her eyes went blank, because he didn’t push it and instead talked about how he got into profiling. She enjoyed listening to him and all the tangents he went on, but soon enough it was rush hour and she excused herself to help at the counter.

As she stood behind the cash register, taking orders and instructing Jeremy on how to do certain, more difficult coffee variants, she took every chance she could get to look at Spencer sitting in the booth. He was most often looking down in some book, but sometimes he was looking at her and every time she noticed, she gave him an almost involuntary smile. His hair, his sense of style, his personality, everything just screamed comfort and familiarity. Like he was someone she could get used to knowing and liking.

—————

After his, admittedly longer than planned, breakfast, Spencer perused the city, checking his favorite bookstores for new editions to add to his ever growing collection.

He just couldn’t shake the sight of her, going from happy and carefree to closed up and quiet from a simple question. Her brown eyes looked so dull, even in the sunlight, that it almost made her feel lifeless. Something deeper was going on there.

Was it wrong of him to be curious and wanting to know why?

He wouldn’t, couldn’t, deny that she had some kind of hold on him. She was absolutely gorgeous, but that was the obvious part. She listened to his tangents about stuff that didn’t matter, even contributed to the conversation with her own facts that she stored in her brain. He wanted to dig deeper, get to know her, know how she worked and reacted to everything around her. Just get an idea of everything she was and ever had been, could be. It felt like he had tapped into just a small part of her and wanted to know the rest.

As he laid in bed that night he almost found it hard to focus on the book, his head full of thoughts, of Olive's blonde waves and deep brown eyes, of her laugh and the way she smiled so genuinely. Her dramatic reactions contrasted with her deadpan delivery on her jokes. She had a physicality often associated with people who did theater, with the dramatic tilting of her head when she listened and almost calculated way she turned her rings on her fingers. Like everything she did had to have a purpose, to build the exact facade she wanted to convey. But it didn’t feel fake; more, it just felt like that was the way she grew up and she did it subconsciously.

He lay there, stirring in his bed, and realized he was profiling her in his head. It was second nature at this point, but it still felt wrong. She was to tell him who she was, he shouldn’t decide who he saw her as before she had a chance to show him.

God, how he wanted her to show him.

Chapter Text

Olive couldn’t place what it was, but something felt… off. She hadn’t received any new letters since the last one; it wasn’t something tangible at all. Instead, she just had a feeling of being watched. Maybe it was the talk she had yesterday where Spencer, without knowing, triggered a memory of her stalker. That’s probably all it was, her trauma speaking.

Nothing to tell them about.

That hadn’t stopped her from going home earlier yesterday, letting Jeremy close up, seeing as Allison had come down with the flu. She was planning on doing the same thing today, seeing as she couldn’t shake that damned feeling of being watched.

Just as she walked out of the cafe, she almost bumped into someone walking by.

“Oh, sorry!”

“No worries.” She heard a laugh and realized that she knew that voice.

“Spencer?”

“Hi again!” He took a step back just so he could maintain eye contact with her, which was a weird feeling for her, as she was usually taller than people she spoke to.

“What are you doing here?” The feeling of being watched had returned again, but she knew without the shadow of a doubt that Spencer wouldn’t be stalking her. And he could impossibly be the stalker from 15 years ago, so she buried her gut feeling even more than she usually did.

“Oh, I live not far from here. I was just on my way home.”

“How come I never see you here then?”

“Oh I usually take the metro, and my apartment is closer than the cafe, so I just never really go past here. I didn’t even know the place existed before Penelope showed me here.”

“Wow, I should really advertise it better.” He smiled and gave her a chuckle, and she couldn’t help but notice how his eyes scrunched up. His hair reached just below his jawline and as he bent his head down slightly, a few strands came loose. She had just the smallest urge to put them behind his ear herself.

“No, it’s fine, I have no idea of anything that isn’t grocery stores and bookshops.” He smiled again before his expression changed slightly, his eyes furrowing. “Do you… have any plans for the evening?”

“Why so formal, Dr Reid?” Her tone was playful, and she prayed that he didn’t think she was flirting. He seemed nice, and it would be nice to have him as a friend. Feelings and flirting tended to make friendships a lot harder, in her experience.

His eyebrows shot up, as though he was surprised he was coming across as formal. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean-“

“I’m just joking, no worries dude.” She smiled at him, reassuredly. “And no, I don't have any plans, why?”

“I haven’t met or even really talked to anyone the last few days, and I was wondering if you’d want to get take out with me? Maybe talk about your time as an actress?”

“I…” She weighed the options for a moment. “Yeah, I'm in, sounds great. You have a place in mind or..?”

“Do you like Thai?”

“I love Thai!”

“Great, then I most certainly do.” He motioned for her to come with him as he strode away, and she found that she had to walk almost twice as fast as usual to keep up. She was absolutely not used to being the shorter person.

—————

There were people shouting something unintelligible in the other room, but the costume lady told her to keep the focus on her. She was sitting in a chair in front of a mirror as the lady told her something, something she didn’t remember the next minute. It wasn’t important, just chitchat to keep her focused whilst she was getting ready.

“Now, Greta, you see how defined the curls are? That is what they usually looked like in the 1910’s. Do you remember what that period was like for the art world?”

That was a question she could answer, and the eleven year old lit up almost immediately. She loved talking about art, her parents could barely teach her enough about it. It was one of the first things the costume manager had noticed, and decided to use it to her advantage and keep the young girl still.

“Modernism!”

“Good job, and what did modernism entail?”

“Modernism was basically weird art styles that went against the classic rules of art. Did you know that classic art is traced back to Ancient Greece?”

“Yes lovely, and then the Renaissance came and renewed the themes after the Middle Ages. They even found new rules, like how to build perspective.” Greta looked up at the older lady, to which she lightly scolded the young girl and told her to look back down, her hair wasn’t done yet.

She was kicking her feet, as they didn’t quite reach down to the ground, when she heard people yelling her name and something else outside the room. Thinking that it meant she was due on set, she tried to leave the chair when the costume designer forced her to sit down. Greta looked up at her, confused, when she saw a security guard run by her door, another one stopping beside it.

They were shouting something, she couldn’t focus on what it was, and the security guard kept looking between her and whatever was outside the door. The costume lady, still holding her to the chair, was whispering all the art and history facts she could come up with to keep the little girl focused on her and not the chaos that was erupting around them.

Not ten minutes later, the other security guard came back and also stood outside her door. Her parents arrived an hour later, frantic, her mother asking the costume lady if Greta was okay, if she had seen anything.

She still didn't have a clue what was going on. All that she knew was that they didn’t film that day, and only got to know later that there was a scary man who had tried to find her.

“It might be the guy who keeps sending you all those letters.”

“But… did they find him?” Her parents looked at each other and sighed, before pulling her into a tight hug. Their way of saying no, they hadn’t. She felt the tears welling up, and she wanted to crawl in on herself, disappear so the man would never find her. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“I know honey, just this movie okay? And after that, no more.” Her mother cradled her face, tears in her own eyes as well. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t want to.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and her mom pulled her even tighter.

“No more, then.” She let go of Olive, brushing away the tears in her cheeks with her thumbs, before placing a kiss on her forehead.

Her mother held her promise, because after that, Greta Berg ceased to exist. The child actress came and went, never to return to the limelight. She didn’t even show for the red carpet.

—————

“So, what was it like, growing up on stage?”

“Honestly pretty great. I had people doting on me 24/7, I got to read and memorize lines, dress up in pretty costumes… not half bad.”

“I can imagine. What movies did you usually do?”

“My parents often chose the scripts, seeing as they knew more than me. But there was a healthy mix of period pieces and contemporaries, from what I recall.” A light bulb seemed to go off in her head. “There was actually one I was in, where I played a young Jane Seymour. God, that was fun.”

“Like, Henry the Eighth's third wife, Jane Seymour?”

“Exactly! The movie wanted to tell the story of the wives before Henry, and show them as women before they became his wives. That was really fun, and I loved the costumes.”

“Was it period accurate?”

“Fuck if I know, fashion history has never been my cup of tea.” Spencer chuckled and took another bite of his food. “What was it like, being the child prodigy?”

“Much worse than what you just described.” He swallowed his bite and seemed to ponder his answer for a moment. “I mean, there was the getting-into-college-at-twelve bit, which was fun, but there was also the getting-bullied-by-my-peers.”

“Oh, that’s…” she felt a pang of guilt in her chest, that she even brought up the topic.

“It’s fine, it was 14 years ago.”

“No wonder you have 3 PhD’s.”

“Thanks, but I also have 2 bachelors in-“

“Oh come on!” She threw her hands up in the air, disturbing the table they were sitting at. “How many degrees do you have?!”

“Five, working on my sixth.”

“Jesus Christ…”

“What?!” He looked actually surprised at her reaction of disbelief.

“You’re acting like it’s easy to not only already have five degrees at 26, but also be working on your sixth, WHILST being in the FBI.”

“Yes? Is that a problem?”

“No, it isn’t a problem, it’s just… how do you manage it?”

His only reaction was shrugging and drinking his water.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Are you trying to change the subject?” She crooked an eyebrow at him.

“Yes.” He leaned on the table, getting slightly closer to her. “Are you Swedish?”

“Only on my moms side. But I did live there for a year when I was four, when my mom filmed a movie there. And I can speak Swedish fluently. What gave it away?” She mimicked his body language, also leaning on the small table and staring into his eyes, almost like she was challenging him.

“The fact that you know a bunch of facts about a relatively small country, also, your last name is Berg. That, combined with your very neutral accent, gave it away.” He smiled, as though he was pleased with himself for figuring out the smallest of her secrets.

Still, she couldn’t help but smile back. She leaned back into her seat, but continued looking at him.

“Jävla smartskalle.” She smiled at his confusion, obviously trying to decipher what she just said. “You have 5 degrees but can't speak Swedish?”

“No, I- why would I learn to speak another language, for no apparent reason?”

“Why get 6 degrees when one is enough?”

“Touché. Also, what did you just say?”

“Would you believe me if I said it was a compliment?” She took a sip of her water, still looking at him.

“No, not really.”

“Shame.” She put down the glass and looked at the clock hanging on the wall. 7:30 pm. “Maybe I should head home, I have work tomorrow.”

“Yeah, me too. Would you like for me to walk you home..?” It was a fair question, seeing as it was November and already dark out, but she shook her head no.

“It’s fine, I can manage myself.”

—————

The walk home wasn’t that long, and it was still relatively early. She also needed to just take in the city, look up at buildings and see if anything could give her inspiration. She had just finished her last painting and today felt like a great day to start the next one.

Except, that when she got home, she noticed many, way too many letters outside her door, packed together in a bundle. A small note saying “The Unsent” at the beginning, written in that same hand style she’d seen multiple times by this point. She felt bile rise in her throat as she picked the bundle up.

No return address.

She couldn’t stop her hand from shaking as she opened her front door, practically slamming it shut as soon as she got in. Sitting down on her welcome mat, back pressed against the door, she opened one of the letters.

May 19th, 1995

It’s been so long since I last saw you. You stopped making movies almost three years ago, and I have rewatched the old ones so many times that they’ve now stopped working. They’re too scratched up, my love.

Can’t you go back to making movies? Please? I miss seeing your face, I want to know how you grew up. You’re thirteen now, that’s a stark difference from eleven.

Please, Greta? Don’t you want to make me happy? I deserve happiness, I think you know that. And nothing would make me happier than you. The other ones mean nothing to me. You’re the only one I truly love.

Your biggest fan

Double checking to make sure she locked the door, she ran towards the kitchen. It was closer. She puked up the Pad Thai she’d had, grasping onto the sink for dear life.

She couldn’t read the other twenty letters, or however many there were. Not now, preferably not ever. She felt the tears softly trickle down her cheeks and she knew, she knew, that this wasn’t just anyone. No one else but him would be doing this.

The guy broke onto set, who pushed her out of acting out of fear for her own safety. He had found her again.

She wanted to scream, to cry, to smash something over the guy's head. But instead, she just sank to the floor, holding tight onto her knees as she panicked.

Because, if she hadn’t managed to shake him off after 14 years, she was never going to be able to do it. He could always be watching, or waiting just outside her door. She could almost feel his presence then, even though she knew he wasn’t there at the moment. He couldn’t be.

She didn’t sleep that night. She kept her curtains pulled and searched for a new apartment.

Chapter Text

It was early in the morning, way too early for the cafe to be open. Spencer searched his memory, knowing that he had checked the opening times last time he went by and yeah, it was definitely too early. It was before seven and they didn’t open until 8. Still, he smoothed down his tie and vest, mildly fixing his hair so that it didn’t look too wild when he went by.

He was fixing his hair.

Since when did he do that? He furrowed his brows, searching in his brain for the answer. He knew the truth, of course, that it had started shortly after he found out about the cafe existing and Olive, but he wasn’t really ready to admit why to himself. Sure, he thought she was pretty and wanted to hear her talk and by god, was he close to changing his everyday route so he could have the off chance of seeing her for a few moments, but that was most likely normal behavior. 

Right?

Spencer wasn’t used to having crushes, not since childhood. And he always handled them terribly, so since the JJ fiasco he had kept all his potential feelings wrapped up and tucked away, not bothering to explore them with anyone.

He went outside the door, not bothering to solve the puzzle in his head. He was still going to be early for work, so it couldn’t hurt to just, walk outside the cafe at least. He could fool himself that much, at least.

To his surprise, Olive was actually in the cafe when he walked by. He knocked on the door, and saw her cleaning the tables inside. She looked up, and her expression quickly changed from worried and stressed to smiling when she saw him. She unlocked the door, let him in and promptly re-locked it.

“Whatcha doing here?” She turned towards the small radio that sat in a corner, turning down the music that was previously playing at an obscenely loud volume. As she turned back towards him, he could see bags under her eyes that weren’t there a few nights ago when they had dinner.

“Just… taking a walk in the morning. What are you doing here, this early?”

“I work here? Haven’t you noticed that by now?” She giggled at her own joke, but it almost felt like she was trying to distract him from something. Like she didn’t want him to prod further.

He could respect that, surely.

“You got me there.” He smiled towards her before looking around the room, furrowing his brows. “Is that new?”

“What? Oh, that. Yeah.” He was looking at a painting of pink clouds in the sky, but from the perspective of a bird, it seemed. You looked down through the clouds toward the green grass, where you could make out a few flowers.

“It’s gorgeous. Did you paint this?”

“I did, the paint just dried enough for it to hang.” She had stopped cleaning the tables now, also staring at her own art. “I’ve painted every painting in this room, as well as the art in the windows. Those were hard, I’ll tell you. Painting on glass is tricky.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” He tilted his head as he looked at the latest painting, before moving on to the others. “You’ve painted all of them?”

“Yep.”

“That’s amazing.” She looked at him, as he was staring at the art she had made throughout her life. She had obvious technical skill, but she was also good at communicating feelings through the brushstrokes. He could practically feel the love from the last one, from the color scheme and perfectly placed brush strokes.

“They’re for sale.”

“They are?”

“Everything on the walls is for sale, actually. People often ask, which I have to admit gives me an insane ego boost.” He chuckled at her remark, but kept staring. It was hard to stop, honestly.

She went behind the counter and prepared two cups of coffee, one latte for himself and one for her. As he made his way to take it, he noticed her rubbing her eyes and yawning.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just… haven’t slept, that’s all.” She gave him a tired smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes, quickly drank her coffee and went to the back, to what he assumed was the kitchen. Drinking the last bit of coffee and placing it on the counter, he shouted a quick goodbye before heading out the door and making his way to work.

—————

He had noticed how tired she was.

A small benchmark to pass, honestly, seeing as her employees and regulars had told her the exact same thing the last three days. But it felt different coming from him. The way he looked concerned, as though they were really close friends, and the way his hand had started making its way toward her shoulder before falling to his side, as though he wanted to comfort her but stopped himself.

It didn’t even seem like he registered the movement. He certainly didn’t react to it, just letting his hand fall to his side. And if she was being honest, god, she couldn’t stop thinking about his hands. How could someone have attractive hands?

She knew exactly what this was. She had felt it too many times before. It was the beginning of a crush, the beginning of something excruciating but still wonderful. She’d get that rush of hope that maybe today, tomorrow, any day ever, he would walk through the door again. That hope, hoping he’d light up when he saw her, hoping that he noticed how her hair fell that particular day, that maybe it was different than every other day. The hope, that he’d want to notice that it was different.

She could not let this carry her away. Still, it was easier than thinking about what kept her up at night. She had found a few apartment listings, one really close by, all affordable with her income. She desperately needed to get away from her old place, no matter how wonderful it was. She wasn’t safe there, she couldn’t feel safe there. Not anymore.

She shivered at the thought of the man, whoever he was. She should probably tell someone, but it felt like a lot to dump on anyone, but especially her two really new friends. To ask them a favor involving their job when she’d known them for a couple of months, at best. And she didn’t want to disturb Vivianne, not when she was working on her first ever movie. Her parents weren’t going to help, seeing as they were on the wrong side of the country and very much just working as usual. 

And it wasn’t like she had many other long term friends anymore, she’d lost contact with them when she moved from LA to Washington. She could maybe count Allison as a friend, they got a bit closer after the Penelope incident, but she didn’t exactly want their whole friendship to be tainted by trauma, start to finish.

The rest of the day went by in a blur, except for a few regulars coming in and chatting and Penelope being her usual self. Spencer didn’t come with, to her disappointment, but she felt embarrassed about that when Penelope started talking about the horrible murder case they had just flown out to solve.

“Okay so I’m not going into details, obviously, but it’s bad.”

“Tell me one detail? Please, I’m so incredibly bored right now.”

“Okay, I’ll give you the least gnarly detail, then I’ll head back.” Pen looked around the cafe before leaning in closer, as though someone was listening to them from across the room. “It has similar details, like a one-to-one on said details, of a case from 27 years ago!”

“So a serial killer who took a really long break?”

“That’s the working theory. Alright, now I have to get back. Bye bye.” And with that, Penelope left. Olive was once again left alone with just the thoughts of moving, a stalker, baking and making new recipes for the holiday season. Which was a lot, to be fair, and could keep her busy for a good few hours.

Somehow, Spencer snuck his way into her thoughts too.

Chapter Text

It was early December by the time Olive had managed to both find a place, rent it, and start moving everything in. Lucky her, it was just up the street from the bakery, and required a key to get in rather than a code someone could potentially learn.

Just as she was settling in, carrying up the last two small boxes, she heard one of the other doors opening. She looked at the small name plate that was on there, out of curiosity.

Reid.

She stood there for the few moments it took for the door to open, just to be greeted with the tall frame of Dr Spencer Reid, looking every bit as surprised as she felt.

“Olive?”

“Yep, hi, that… is me.” She noticed his attire, looking every bit as put together as he did during the day. “Oh I’m sorry, were you going somewhere? I can move out of the way-“

“No, I just… you’re my new neighbor?” She nodded, doing her best not to let the two boxes fall out of her grip. She was really tired after a whole day of moving and holding on to them for longer than anticipated wasn’t doing wonders for her already sore arms.

“Yeah, seems like it. What a fun coincidence!” She sounded exasperated, she knew that much, but she tried her best to give him a genuine smile.

“And, um, I was just taking out the trash. But, I haven’t eaten dinner yet, maybe I could bring you some takeout? And help you unpack?” He looked unsure with himself, as though he was worried he was crossing her boundaries.

“You would do that?” She was ready to cry honestly, and he looked back at her with a smile on his lips. He laughed awkwardly, as though he was confused about her apprehensiveness.

“Of course! Do you think I have something better to do?”

“It’s a Friday night, I would argue most people do actually.” He, again, laughed at her delivery, and it made her feel just slightly less tired. “But really, thank you, that would be so incredibly kind. I would hug you if it weren’t for the boxes.”

She swore she could see a blush rise in his cheeks, but he went down the stairs with a promise of Thai before she could be entirely sure. She finally carried her boxes into the apartment, putting it down with a loud sigh and looking around the room.

She hadn’t unpacked much, except for the food and kitchenware. The moving company had handled basically everything that wasn’t neatly packed, so if it weren’t for the promise of food, she’d probably fall asleep on her couch this second. Instead, she kept herself awake, and came up with a brilliant idea.

—————

Spencer returned with Thai food about twenty minutes later, only for Olive to open the door with incredibly messy hands. For his standards, anyway. She smiled and thanked him before going back to the kitchen.

“What’re you making?” He looked over to where she was standing, just seeing a few bowls and a plate full of shredded coconut. He put down the pizzas on the kitchen table and looked around the rest of the room, finding it to be almost the same as his own apartment. A very shocking revelation, obviously.

“I’m not sure what you call them here, in Sweden they’re called chokladbollar. Extremely easy to make, really tasty, I love them.” His attention snapped back to her when she answered, and he noticed that she had put her hair up, something he actually hadn’t seen before on her. It was pretty.

“But why make them now?”

“Good question, the short answer is because I felt like it. You aren’t like, lactose intolerant or something, right?” He shook his head, and watched her continue rolling the small balls of dough. She dipped them in the shredded coconut and was soon enough done, washing her hands and putting the small chocolate-y balls in the fridge.

“Thank you so much for this, you really didn’t have to.” She remarked as they were eating, giving him an extremely tired smile. He couldn’t help but notice how pronounced the dark circles under her eyes had become, and wondered if that was new or if she just usually hid them under makeup.

“It’s my pleasure, really.”

“So, my plan is to start with the decor, all my paintings and stuff, then you can maybe help with the easel and hanging curtains, you’d be a big help with that actually… oh I really needed food, I feel like a brand new person now.” Olive smiled again, seemingly happy about organizing everything and getting it ready. Something Spencer could very much relate to, and he helped with unpacking the best he could.

He soon found out that Olive had a very particular order of doing things, and an almost ritual of sorts. She wanted to have the curtains hung before anything else, and she wanted to fix the small details and decor first before moving the big stuff into the right place. It made sense for the rug underneath the coffee table, but he couldn’t get why she wanted to make her bed properly before hanging up a single painting of hers.

“It works best for me, to focus on one thing at a time. If I hang up one painting, I’m going to want to hang every painting, and then the bed will be left untouched.” She explained once he asked her about it. He looked at her critically but she just made a face, and remarked that HE was helping HER, and could very much leave if he didn’t like how she did things. Spencer didn’t feel like leaving just to be across the hall, reading for the rest of the night, so he just smiled and continued doing things her way.

It was honestly more fun than moving usually was. She insisted on unpacking some boxes himself, so he let those be, but the rest of the stuff was fun to go through. She remarked on memories she had, like a costume she had worn on halloween when she was 15 and couldn’t let go off, or the heaps of birthday cards she kept tracking back to just 7 years old. She had an extensive collection of cookbooks, some of them in Swedish, some of them filled with just desserts. A few of them were so old you could barely see the text, and the edges on the pages were frayed and wrinkly from years of love and usage. It was easy to see what her favorite things to bake had been.

“This is your family?” He held a picture in his hand of two young girls, both blonde, between two smiling parents. The girls were holding each other, the older one clearly lifting the small one so they would be the same height. Both the parents had light hair, although the father’s was a bit darker. It was also from him Olive got her brown eyes from: the mom had bright green eyes, something you could see from miles away even on the very old photograph. They were standing in front of an enclosure, with a few small goats roaming around in the background, barely visible.

“Yep. That’s me-“ she pointed at the older girl. “that my sister, Vivianne-“ the younger one, “my mom, Naomi, and my dad Adrian.”

“Why does it say “Venus and Greta’s first time at the zoo, 1995?””

“Oh that’s our middle names, and also what my parents used to call us when we were younger. I didn’t know my legal name was Olivia until I was 6.”

“Your sister’s middle name is Venus?”

“I know! It’s unfair because it’s objectively cooler than mine. She was named after a roman goddess, my dad’s idea, and I was named after a Swedish actress. Mom’s idea.” She said it sarcastically, but there was a hint of something else when she talked about her own middle name.

“Greta Garbo?”

“Yep. Who else. It was also my stage name, actually. Greta.” She had a slight thousand yard stare as she looked at the photo, hovering just by his shoulder. He could practically feel her breath on his upper arm before she moved away and continued looking in the other boxes. “I started going by Olivia after I quit acting in 1992, but my parents still called me Greta. No one else does.”

“Your parents seem lovely.”

“They are! They introduced me to history, baking, art, everything really.”

“My mom introduced me to basically everything I know as well. She used to read literature, scriptures and poems to me when everyone else thought I was too young to really understand it.”

“Oh?” Olive put down the box she was currently looking in, instead focusing on him. “She sounds nice as well.”

“She is. She’s actually a professor of 15th century literature.” Olive’s jaw dropped at the mention.

“She is? At which university?”

“Oh, she doesn’t teach anymore.”

“Shame.” And it was back to unpacking boxes. When they were basically done she asked if he wanted to taste the thing she had baked earlier, and he happily agreed.

They were honestly amazing, and he understood why she had chosen to open a cafe. Which prompted another question.

“Why is it called The Romantic Bakery?”

“Hmm? Oh, right. I don't know if you’ve noticed but there are three rooms you can sit in; the one where you order, another room to the left and one to the right. We also of course have the kitchen and bathrooms but they aren’t important right now.” She swallowed the bite she had just taken before continuing.

“So, three main rooms. The one on the left is Rococo themed, the one in the middle you’ve surely noted is Renaissance themed, and the one on the right is Middle Ages themed. They’re all periods in European art history. Or, technically Rococo is a style from the first half of the Enlightenment but whatever.”

“Okay…”

“The Middle Ages room is also, technically, both styles that appeared during the Middle Ages; gothic and roman. Which, if you don’t know although I’m sure you do, is typical of the Romantic period. Which is where the cafe got its name. It’s a mixture of styles, therefore, eclectic, THEREFORE, inspired by the Romantic period! So, the Romantic cafe!” She did jazz hands quickly, before drinking from a glass of water she had fixed for herself. His still stood untouched on the coffee table.

“That’s a longer explanation than I honestly expected.”

“That’s the same thing Viv told me when I explained it to her.” Olive smiled into the rim of the glass, seemingly not knowing if she should drink or put it down.

He was just about to ask something else when she yawned again, finally putting down the glass on the coffee table.

“Are you tired? How long have you been up?”

“Since about 5, maybe? What’s the time now… oh, it’s 11 already?” She blinked and rubbed her eyes, standing up from the couch. He did the same, taking it as his cue to leave. “Crazy, you’ve been here for 4 hours and it feels like nothing.”

“Yeah, I agree, it was nice! But maybe it’s time I leave now. If nothing else, I can help tomorrow.” He gave her a small smile and took a step back, ready to go back to his own apartment, when she hugged him.

With anyone else, he probably would have thought about germs and whatnot, but now his thoughts just froze. And he hugged her back, focusing on the warmth she left on his body after she left his arms just a second later.

“I’m not sure that’s needed, but I’ll call you if I need to.”

“Or you can just go across the hall?”

“Right, you’re my neighbor now! God, I forgot.” She sighed and put her head in her hands. “Fuck I’m tired. Yes, if I need help, I’ll just go across the hall and ask you. Thanks for tonight though.”

“No problem.” He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his whole face, still tingling from her touch. In a good way, in the way that made him want to hug her good night again.

But instead, he left, and splayed himself across his bed. Thinking, letting his brain race, and goddammit did it race back to Olive.

He wasn’t unfamiliar with women, hadn’t been for a while. But whenever he felt attraction to one they all of a sudden felt unattainable. And now, he was thinking of every outdated societal rule of dating.

Because truly, she was out of his league. If leagues existed. Her wavy, long blonde hair, that always framed her face and those round brown eyes. Those eyes, that always glittered when they looked up at him. Not a detail in her face seemed to small, or big, or too much or too little. It just fit together so nicely and it was hard not to notice.

He wanted to ask if her hair was naturally wavy or if she styled it that way, if she somehow used makeup to make her eyes seem bigger or if she used lipstick to make her lips that perfect shade of pinkish red. And most of all, he wanted to just stare and look at her, without her thinking it was weird or inappropriate. With her maybe smiling, her smile , at him when she noticed but not really thinking anything of it. He wanted to get to know her.

Which isn’t a weird thought, except for the fact that it was the only thing filling his mind until he fell asleep. As well as being the first thing he thought of in the morning.

—————

When Spencer left, and she carefully locked the door, the first thing she did was go into her bedroom and scream into a pillow.

It wasn’t just that he had invited himself over, and that they had discussed basically her whole childhood, and she got to know more about him as well. No. On top of all of that, he. was. her. neighbor.

They were neighbors. Technically, if she timed everything right during the morning, she could see him everyday. Not just on the odd day he stopped by the cafe, but every. day.

Why did she all of a sudden feel like she was 15 again, talking with Vivianne about the pretty guy that looked at her in the school's hallway? But by god, this man was pretty. His hair, his eyes, his goddamn hands again-

It was probably best to sleep on this feeling, process it tomorrow, and maybe paint to really get it out. If nothing else, draw. Maybe bake.

Anything, everything, she could do to get him off her mind, she would do. Because if she thought about how warm and nice and right that hug felt just one more time, she was going to lose it.

Chapter Text

Spencer did check in the next day, to see if she needed help, but she insisted it was fine. He didn’t want to push it, obviously, so instead he went back to his apartment and read a few books. Just about the time he stopped thinking about her and was actually focusing on a case file that he had taken home yesterday, for the explicit purpose of analyzing it during his time off, he heard a knock on his door.

Before he even reached his door, he smelled something on the other side. He opened, and there stood Olive, with a plate of carrot cake in her hands.

“It’s a thank you, for yesterday.”

“You… didn’t have to.” He welcomed her in, and she made her way to his kitchen. She put the plate down in the counter and looked around quickly, before focusing on him again.

“I know, but I wanted to. It’s one of my favorite recipes, I hope you like it.”

“I’m sure I will.” His whole face had lit up by this point, he was sure of it. At the very least he was blushing and smiling, and that was just by her being here.

“Also it gave me an excuse to bring up that I’ve actually managed to unpack basically everything. Which is very much thanks to you, by the way.” She still stood in his kitchen, unsure of how to proceed exactly. Her hands were tucked into the back pockets of her jeans, and he noticed a few embroidered patterns on both the belt loops on said jeans and the hem of her shirt.

“Do you embroider your clothes?” The question caught her off guard, and she looked down on her clothes, chuckling when she noticed which ones he was talking about.

“I do. Good eye, most people don’t even see them.” She began pointing at them and explaining what kind of flowers they were, and what technique she had used, from the roses on her crop top to the carnations on her jeans. She even pointed out a few small daffodils that she had embroidered into the white squares on her flannel shirt that he hadn’t noticed.

“Did you know that daffodils are associated with and symbolizes rebirth and new beginnings? But less commonly they’re also symbols of resilience, creativity and forgiveness.”

“I’m not familiar with flower language, but that’s a fun coincidence. I embroidered the flannel on the train ride here from LA, when I was moving.” She tilted her head and smiled, encouraging him to keep talking.

“They’re also one of the few flowers that don’t have different meanings for different colors. They change more from country to country actually. For example, in China-“ he was interrupted by his phone beeping, signaling that Hotch had just given them a new case. Sure enough, that’s exactly what the message he got said. “I have a case, but you can put the cake in the fridge. Thanks, by the way. For the cake.” 

He went into the other room to get his go bag, and when he came back Olive had left, but on top of his counter there was a small note that just said “good luck :)”.

He stared at her handwriting for a minute, before putting the note into his pocket and leaving, double checking if she was at her door. She wasn’t.

—————

Christmas came and went, bringing good business for the bakery. On the 23rd of December, she gave everyone time off for the holidays, opening again right after new years. She herself traveled to her parents for Christmas, and she had barely exited the plane her parents booked for her when the LA reality hit. Being back in Hollywood brought back memories, it always did, but nothing could’ve prepared her for the shitstorm that was getting from the airport to her parents house. 

Paparazzi were everywhere, even at the airport, but that wasn’t for her so it was easy getting out. But once she got to her childhood house, there were swarms of them specifically to get some kind of scoop on her family. They would’ve probably taken hundreds of photos of her every few seconds if she wasn’t sitting in a car. They made way for her, thankfully, but that was only because of said car. Her parents had also sent that to pick her up from the airport, which was luxurious and she knew that, but they had a real reason for it other than just spoiling her to no end. 

She hadn’t recalled the paparazzi being this terrible when she grew up, but she guessed that the newest movie had been a bigger commercial success than the ones they had made when she was little. 

Her parents never talked about how well known they were, and being in their forties didn’t exactly make them prime candidates for gossip magazines she would’ve picked up at the mall as a teen, so Olive had always just assumed that they were getting by just fine when she was younger. Fine for LA, but not terribly rich. 

She figured out just how wrong she was when she grew up; their house was big, and when she had told her parents about her plans on starting a bakery they hadn’t hesitated before giving her a huge loan. So by now she knew, that the only reason she didn’t get recognised everywhere she went as their daughter, was because they had fought tooth and nail to keep her out of the spotlight.

If they had been just a bit more slack, she probably would’ve still been wrapped up in Hollywood and all its glamor. Because if them just existing, having a house, and daughters that were visiting for Christmas, was a good enough news story that a horde of paparazzi were surrounding their house, it was deductible that they were properly famous. 

And that that fame could have very much been her life as well.

Dragging her out of her thoughts was the bell, ringing at the same time that it usually did. She had completely forgotten for just a moment that it was currently January, and that she was back in Washington.

“Heyyo! Same as always.” Penelope strutted in, already waving her credit card. Olive started making the coffee, when the blonde asked her a question. “So, how’s the new apartment?”

“It’s nice, y’know, starting to really settle in.” She poured the milk in, making a simple heart in the foam. “The best part is that I can wake up later and not have to worry about being late, honestly.” That was a total lie, the best part was her neighbor, but Penelope didn’t need to know she was living next to Spencer just yet. Not when that would without a doubt make her blush and start tracing hearts on the counter.

“How did you know to only make one?”

“Huh?” She placed the singular coffee cup in the bag, next to the kind of cookie Penelope couldn’t get enough of for the moment.

“I always have to tell you when it’s just me, that you don’t have to get something for the others. But now, you just know.”

“Oh yeah, I noticed that Spencer took his go bag… this… morning…” Shit. What had she just told herself not to tell Pen? And what did she reveal directly after?

“You noticed-“

“I live next to Spencer, I discovered. Weird coincidence.” She did jazz hands, hoping it would somehow distract Penelope enough from her admission.

It did not.

“You live next to Spencer?” Penelope gave her a gaping smile, before checking her watch, grabbing the bag and starting to rush out. “I need to get back, people need saving, bUT THIS CONVERSATION IS NOT OVER! Oh, sorry.” She accidentally bumped into someone that was coming in at the same time she was walking out. But before leaving Olive's sight, she made a “call me” gesture in the window.

Olive gave her a thumbs up and greeted the customer that had just walked in. She was blushing from the previous conversation, but the guy didn’t seem to mind and went into the far back of the room, sipping his coffee.

She tried her best to focus, but since there were no other customers right now she just ended up staring at the wall, mind trying to come up with explanations she could give Penelope that wouldn’t sound too… hopeless romantic, from her side. When that got boring, she just cleaned the three rooms she had the ability to clean, before going into the kitchen and checking how everyone was doing.

Time passed, as it does, and soon enough she was home. She sent Penelope a text, but she just responded that she was still working the case and she would call Olive later. So instead she just put on some music, turned the volume up an appropriate amount and started cooking. She ran through a few interactions she had experienced during the day, the usual annoying and downright stupid customers mixed in with nice and respectful ones. She muttered some smartass responses that she had piled up during the day under her breath, getting the frustration out by insulting her sauce. 

It was relaxing, cooking in your own home. She wasn’t as good at it as she was baking, and often ended up cooking some kind of pasta, or if she was feeling really lazy just a salad with bread on the side. Which was always a gateway to her just making more bread, because wouldn’t it be wonderful to make sourdough again?

Still, today, she was more creative and ended up making salmon, with potatoes for a change. It smelled good, to her great relief, and she decided to flip through a cookbook whilst eating, to lessen the feeling of loneliness.

It wasn’t really loneliness though, seeing as she hadn’t felt that in a while. She went home to LA for Christmas, where she got to catch up with both her parents and Viv for the first time in what felt like forever. She lived next to Spencer, who she almost always talked to at least once a day if it weren’t for a case. She had even started to have over Allison to her home sometimes, and was beginning to get to know the other two BAU women better.

She was drawn out of her thoughts by the phone ringing, and she realized she had completely forgotten that she was supposed to be searching for recipes whilst eating. The book lay open at a recipe she had already tried and absolutely despised.

She picked up the phone, reading Penelope’s name and answering.

“How did the case go?”

“Good, but you’re not going to distract me out of this situation. Tell me everything!”

“There’s not much to talk about, Pen. I moved and he lives next door. He helped me unpack, we’re friends, and see each other in the hallway.”

“He got to help you unpack but you didn’t ask me?”

“Well, he offered to help and he was literally right there. It was easy for him to do so.”

“See, this is what I’m talking about, you say that it’s nothing but he literally offered to help you.”

“… yes?” She took a minute before adding, “Isn’t that… normal?”

“Not for Spencer! He couldn’t move a box with those thin little arms of his!”

“To be fair, the boxes were already in my apartment. He just helped unpack some stuff.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“What did you two unpack? Only boxes, or maybe there was some trauma as well?” She heard Penelope gasp at some kind of revelation. “Was it a bonding experience?”

“Penelope, what the fuck, why are you questioning me about this.”

“Because! It’s impossible to get Reid to touch other people, much less their personal stuff that isn’t tied to like, a murder.”

“Now that’s just dramatic.” 

“But it’s true! He’s a germaphobe, Olive, so the fact that he helped you move stuff when there could be even a speck of dirt on them? A miracle.”

Olive laughed at her delivery. “So it’s shocking to you that we hugged as well, right?”

“YOU HUGGED?!”

“… I’ll take that as a yes.” There was a brief pause on Penelope’s end, but Olive could hear scribbling on the line. Finally, a minute later, she got an answer.

“Now, Spencer is a hugger, when you get to know him. When he’s comfortable with you. He is baaaaad with physical contact if he isn’t. So, long story short, you made him trust you in less than a month. That is amazing, really.”

“Thank you? Also, what were you writing, I could hear you-“

“Not important.”

“But-“

“No, let’s leave that conversation in the past. We can’t just talk about boys, we have to pass the Bechdel test. What did you do for Christmas, I’ve forgotten to ask you.”

The topic moved from there, somehow ending up on the upcoming Grammy nominations and who they hoped would win. Their talk didn’t end until late in the evening, when Penelope said something about being tired and needing to rest after a tiring day. Olive understood and hung up, laying down on her couch and staring at the tv. Maybe she should put on something, seeing as she wasn’t tired yet.

Just then, she heard a door opening out in the buildings hallway. Glancing through the peephole, she soon saw Spencer walking by, rubbing his eyes and generally looking defeated. Not sure if it was the right idea, she opened the door.

“Rough case?”

He swung around immediately, barely phased at her appearing. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Do you want to sleep or maybe talk about it?” The question was purely out of concern for his well-being, seeing as constantly putting your own life at risk for everyone else’s safety would be hard on anyone.

He smiled, a sad kind of smile, that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Still, he accepted the invitation and entered her apartment, laying himself across her couch. Simply talking about what his day had been like, and yet, it didn’t feel simple. She made some tea whilst he talked, giving him a cup before sitting on the ground next to him.

He continued talking for almost an hour, and thanked her for listening. She just smiled back and reassured him that he could talk to her anytime he needed.

Chapter Text

March, 2008

There had been two months of silence from her stalker, and Olive was calming down. She wasn’t stupid, he was still out there and that worried her, but he didn’t consume her nights anymore. She actually slept nowadays, something Spencer picked up on almost immediately.

Her feelings had subsided slightly as she and Spencer got more comfortable in their friendship, seeing each other almost everyday. They weren’t gone per say, something she was reminded off every time some customer asked for her number. Not only was that unwelcome at all times, but it just reminded her that they weren’t 6’1 nerds with long brown hair. And also reminded her that her type was now hyper focused on 6’1 nerds with long brown hair, preferably those who lived next door.

There was a knock on her door, and she opened it. Speak of the devil, and his coworkers shall appear.

Penelope had suggested a movie night a week ago, and Olive readily agreed. Then Penelope suggested that JJ and Emily join in, and she felt slightly more uncomfortable but didn’t voice it. Now that they were here, wine in hand, she was actually kind of excited. They swung by the cafe regularly, Emily a bit more often, so she had had a few conversations with each of them. Not Penelope level, but a few.

She was surprised to get a hug from each of them, but didn’t complain.

“So, ladies, what movies were we planning on seeing?” Emily asked, putting the wine on the kitchen table.

“I have this one. It took some digging, but, it’s a conversation starter.” Penelope held up a copy of a movie, called “The Wives”. Olive gasped.

“You didn’t.”

“She didn’t… what?” JJ had just hung her coat and returned to the conversation, looking at the copy.

“I-“

“She’s in the movie!”

“You’re in the movie?” JJ asked, mouth agape.

Olive sighed. “Yes, I am, I played Jane Seymour as a child.”

“Oooh.” JJ grabbed the copy from Penelope’s hand, reading the cover. “You never told us you acted as a child.”

“It sounds too much like bragging.”

“Hey! Where are the wine glasses?”

“I’ll fix it, don't you worry. I’ve popped some popcorn, by the way!” She carried out the large bowl into the living room, setting it down on the coffee table before getting four wine glasses.

It was honestly more fun to watch her old movie than she had thought. Not only did they praise her performance in it, even though she said that it was a long time ago, she was nine, but they just felt that made it even more impressive. She could help but blush and brag a bit about her upbringing, something she hadn’t even discussed that much with Penelope yet.

When the movie was over and all that was left was wine and another bag of popcorn, she got to know them better as well. She knew, by this point, that Penelope had a boyfriend but she had never heard her gush so much about the guy. JJ talked about her long distance boyfriend, a police officer, and how her job differs from the profilers. It was interesting, and she loved listening to them all talking about their much more exciting work. She loved the cafe, but the adrenaline thrill of just hearing some of their stories, was more exciting than she got per year of running it.

The time went by fast, and soon enough, she was wishing them safe travels home and making sure that they would text her when they got back. It was stupid, considering all three were more capable of killing than any man out there, but old habits die hard.

She brushed her teeth, locked her door and went to sleep once she got the messages. Curled up in her bed, she smiled with content and semi-drunken feelings of appreciation.

—————

April, 2008

He knocked on her door, hoping it wasn’t too early. The clock was just over 9 and she had work, so he figured she would at least be up. He was proven right when she opened the door a few moments later, looking very much confused. She looked fancier than was usual for an otherwise normal Tuesday. She wore a tight black turtleneck over plated brown pants, a far cry from her usually relaxed style of loose jeans and flannels. This looked more formal, like she was going to a dinner at the fancy place a block over.

His cheeks reddened slightly as he gave her the present he was currently holding.

“I, uhm, happy birthday.”

“You remembered?” 

She took the present, and looked up at him with those big brown eyes. It almost looked like she was about to cry, with her cheeks and the tip of her nose blushing, but instead she just hugged him. It was a clumsy side hug , seeing as she was still holding the present, but still a hug. 

He could smell her perfume, something flowery and sweet without being overwhelming. She looked down at the present, grinning from ear to ear before starting to open it.

“Of course I remembered, it’s not something you forget.” She smiled wider at his words, still unraveling the paper from the present before gasping.

“You got me a book?”

“It’s not just any book, see, it’s a Roman art history book. Because you said that when you were younger, you really liked Roman mythology, so I thought that-“

“This… oh it’s beautiful, thank you!” She put the book down on the nearest surface, before practically jumping into his arms. She wasn’t that much shorter than him, but she still had to lift her heels in order to envelop him in the bone crushing hug.

He didn’t mind, in the slightest, and hugged her back. He could’ve stayed there longer, in her arms, in the doorframe, in her presence. But she let go soon enough, and gave him one of those smiles that made her eyes squint and nose scrunch up, one of those smiles that just made him want to hold her even more, even longer, even tighter, that really made him want to kiss her.

But he didn’t. Instead, he just stood there whilst they conversed about her parents coming into town for a few days to celebrate, and she walked around the room whilst fixing herself up. It was now, with her just stalking around the apartment, that he could really tell she had grown up in front of cameras. The poise Olive had resembled movie stars on red carpets, with the straight back and controlled neck movements. He wanted to stay longer and talk, watch, just exist in this bubble they had, but they both had work so he excused himself after a few minutes.

Just as he was leaving and closing the door, he heard her yelling goodbye.

“Bye, thank you, love you!”

He didn’t even know if she registered the word choice.

—————

October, 2008

She waited for him to open the door. It was one of those nights where neither had had plans, so they were just going to chill at her apartment with some takeout and talking about whatever. They were fairly common these days, but she still looked forward to every single one.

She knew that if this had been with anyone else, she would have considered it a date. But it was Spencer. He, probably, didn’t like her like that. Did that stop her from putting on a crop top and low waisted, baggy sweatpants that she knew looked really good whilst looking effortless? No, not exactly. But it was also comfortable, she said to herself, as though the big warm sweater she had just bought was less comfortable. No, this was purely because she wanted some kind of reaction from the man, even though she tried her best not to acknowledge it.

He knocked, even though the door was very much unlocked. She just yelled at him to come in, that the food was on the table and getting cold.

“You’re starting to sound like my mom, you know.” He said as he closed the door behind him, locking it.

“I’ve never met her, but I will be taking that as a compliment.” He did glance at her outfit, but she couldn’t see a reaction in his face. Fucking profilers and their controlled micro expressions. “Also, I have something for you!”

She reached for the small present she had hidden, giving him over the table. “I know that I was out of town for your birthday, so I hope it’s okay that the present is a little late.”

“What is it?” She had spent enough time with him to see that he was really excited, but unsure of how to express it. His face went from serious to happy, to confused and back to happy in a matter of seconds.

“Well…” she didn’t get to explain before he ripped the paper off, revealing a relatively small painting. “Maybe it’s not what you wanted, but every time I had an idea for a book you had already bought it. And it’s Russian version, so I figured I’d just… make you something.”

He looked at the painting, quiet. It depicted a swan, swimming in a lake, with foliage covering the upper part and cutting of the blue. There was also grass on the majority of the bottom half, making the white swan really stand out in an almost camouflaged way.

“It’s gorgeous.” He barely whispered the words, and Olive leaned closer to make sure she heard him right.

“Did… do you like it?” She was playing with the hem of her shirt, nervously tugging at it and looking up at him. She found that he was already looking at her, adoration in his eyes. Those puppy dog eyes would be the death of her.

“I love it.” He smiled from ear to ear, standing up and stalking over to her. She stood up herself, letting him hug her tightly.

She felt as though she was practically pushing herself into him, the way he took over all of her senses. She wasn’t registering anything other than the fact that he didn’t let go , embracing her for almost a minute before loosening his arms around her. She smiled up at him, happy that he liked the painting. She had spent a lot of time on it, and it had been really hard to keep it a secret from him, seeing as he could stop by every other hour just to say hello.

This should’ve been a wake up call for her, to take initiative, tell him something, but she didn’t. Instead, she accepted their roles as friends, and savored the moments where they were close together.

—————

December, 2008

It was technically after hours, so the cafe was closed, but Olive had opened it so she and Spencer could hang out and drink hot chocolate. He had been a bit stingy about the idea, until she convinced him that it was fine seeing as she owned the place.

He was in the middle of performing a slight of hand magic trick, something he had started doing more since they had a case a few weeks back. She had asked about it but he just brushed her off, explaining it away with it just being nostalgic. He didn’t really feel like telling her that he desperately wanted to see her impressed by something that he was doing, and apparently magic tricks were a chick magnet. According to Morgan, anyway.

“So, how’s it feel to be a godfather?”

“It’s great actually, Henry is adorable.”

“I bet he’ll love the tricks when he grows up.” She was still mesmerized by what he was doing, desperately trying to see through the act and catch how he made the coin disappear. He smiled and knew she wouldn’t, he had been doing this for far too long to let rookie mistakes sell him out.

“Let’s hope so. And now…” He reached behind her ear, revealing the coin in his hand as he did so. When he showed her the coin she giggled, a sound that was music to his ears. Now, he started doing tricks with cards instead, having exhausted his best tricks with the penny.

“It’s so weird to think, that if I hadn’t been forced out of acting, I wouldn’t have this life.” She was sitting with crossed legs on the counter, intently watching him perform the new magic tricks.

“Forced out?” He looked up at the word choice, but she just shrugged and looked down into her half-empty cup. “Why were you forced out of acting? I thought your parents-“

“My parents didn’t force me out. Sometimes, I wonder if they would’ve made me quit during my teenage years anyway, because of Hollywood’s culture and pressure surrounding child stars. But that wasn’t the reason for me leaving.” She bit her lip and tugged at the sleeves of her flannel.

“Do you want to tell me?” He paused for a moment, wondering how he should phrase the question that had been on his mind for a while. “You never talk about it. Would you like to?”

Olive looked at him, for just a moment, and sighed. Tugging a strand of her hair behind her ear and drinking the last bit of hot chocolate from the mug before the confession.

“It’s… I had a stalker. He would send me letters, directly to my home and to the sets I worked on. I was already scared by that point, but one day, he broke onto set. Like, fully broke onto set, looking for me. I didn’t know what was happening, at the time, but when I came home and got to know what happened…” She had a thousand yard stare, clearly recounting the trauma before taking a deep breath. “I’ve never been so scared.”

She laughed out the last sentence, trying to alleviate the tension.

“They never caught him. We figured that if I just stopped filming movies, he would disappear. So, that movie where he broke onto set, was the last thing I ever worked on. He still sent letters, until maybe 1993? We stored them in a box, in case they ever caught him, for proof y’know. I still have them.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, a very bitter end to something I really loved.” She pursed her lips. “But again, the culture surrounding teen stars in Hollywood is horrendous, so I’m glad I didn’t have to go through that. I don’t know how many articles my parents had to buy from journalists before they stopped caring about me and moved on to the next child actress.”

“And if you continued doing that, who knows where you would be now.”

“Probably not as happy, I have to admit. It feels like this life, here, just gliding by is what I was meant for, rather than the big screen.” She smiled at him, and he found that he had to agree with that.

He couldn’t imagine her as anything other than the small town cafe owner. He couldn’t imagine her going to red carpets every week, always in a new dress and hairstyle. She was meant to sit cross legged on the counter, drinking hot chocolate whilst recounting memories from her childhood, no matter how traumatic. Preferably, doing that with him.

Their talk led into a tangent from him about the history of Hollywood, how it was formed and everything that happened behind the scenes. It was dark in the cafe, with only the lights from the kitchen being lit. The small rays of light that trickled out through the door frame was enough for him to make out how she was tilting her head as she listened. Her eyes were twinkling in the soft light and momentarily, he lost track of what he was talking about.

“I think I broke him.” She whispered under her breath.

“What?” He blinked a few times, trying to remember what he was saying before he got distracted.

“I’ve never seen you stop in the middle of a sentence before. You always say complete sentences, and then go on a tangent about the sentence afterwards.” She looked actually concerned, and he resorted to the most basic excuse he had.

“Sorry, I just… headache?”

“Ah. I get it. We could start to go back, if you’d like?”

He didn’t really want the outing to end, but he agreed anyway since she still looked concerned. She closed down the cafe again, and they made their way back to their apartment building. Outside the front door, Spencer patted on every pocket he knew, and started searching his bag.

“Hey, have you seen my keys?”

“Why, you can’t find them?” Olive opened the door instead, holding it open for him whilst he continued searching.

“Yeah. It’s weird, I could’ve swore I had them…”

“Happens to the best of us.”

They said goodbye in the hallway, with him promising to drink his water and sleep tight.

Olive found his keys the next day in the cafe, but he still couldn’t wrap his head around how they fell out.

Chapter Text

May, 1995

“Viv, seriously, get out of my room!”

“I’m not in your room!”

“MOOOOOM!”

“Venus, please stop annoying your sister. She is trying to paint.”

“Why does she get to paint, and I have to study?” Vivianne huffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest like a petulant child. Sure, she was ten, but she could act a bit more mature.

“Because you have a test tomorrow, and she doesn’t.”

Olive closed her door and turned up the music she was listening to. She had just bought a new easel and was trying it out, and had multiple books on renaissance art open. It was her favorite era right now, and she really wanted to emulate a painter from around the 1500’s because of it.

She was just about to give up and just choose another era, when she discovered an old art history book that she hadn’t touched in years. Pressed between two pages was a note from her younger self, with all the fun facts she had learned about the painter on set of “The Wives”. The pages told her all about Hans Holbein the younger, and she was struck by creativity.

Positioning her biggest mirror so that she could see her own reflection as she painted, she made a quick sketch of what would become her first ever self portrait. It was good, for a thirteen year old, with proportions and dimension, but she didn’t like how it turned out with acrylic paint. Even after a week of trying to perfect it, it just wasn’t as blended as his portraits, much patchier and amateur looking. It looked like her, and it was realistic, it just didn’t have that same feeling, it didn’t feel like it had a soul, that Holbein managed to capture.

Two weeks later, she had given up on perfecting the portrait, and showed it to her family. Her parents were impressed, especially when she told them about who she was inspired by and the whole history behind why she choose him. 

But Viv was quiet, waiting until later in the evening to talk with her again.

“Hey.”

“What do you want, Viv?”

“Can I… do you want to have the portrait?” Her little sister looked up at her with those big pleading eyes as she asked it, the ones that always got her what she wanted from mom and dad. It made Olive really suspicious.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because… if you dont want it…” she whispered the next sentence, and Olive barely caught what she said. “It was really pretty.” 

Olive’s face broke out into a smile, bigger than when her parents had showered her with compliments on the painting.

“Do YOU want the portrait?”

“I could have it?” Olive smiled wider, and hugged her sister tight.

“Of course you could.”

—————

February, 2009

“Maybe I should start selling books in the cafe.”

“I would come by even more often if you did that, honestly.”

Spencer and Olive were wandering about in an old bookstore, that Spencer had almost begged her to visit with him. It was a cozy place, with tons of books she has never seen before lining the shelves. A lot of them academic, some of them newer editions of old books, most of them classic literature.

Spencer held up a copy of Lolita, and started explaining the cover of it.

“This one is actually interesting, because most of Lolita’s differing covers focus on her, if you discount the original Vladimir Nabokov one of course, which is just plain with the title. This actually tells us more about us than the book; the focus of the covers display what we associate with the book, which is the thirteen year old that is being sexualised. And then the cover sexualises her, again, and objectifies her. Look.” He took another book off the shelves, and she saw what he meant. 

“I get it. One of them look at the book almost from Humbert Humbert’s perspective, with Lolita being the cover. Like, her iconic sunglasses and a lollipop.” She gestured at the book he held in his right hand. “And the other one is looking at it from Lolitas perspective, with the uncomfortable old man who is grooming her on the cover instead?” She gestured at the book he was currently holding in his left hand, waiting for his reaction to see if she was correct.

“Yes! Exactly. See, this-“ he gestured with the book in his right hand, “is what Nabokov was trying to argue against. His point in the book is that Dolores is being exploited, and the cover is doing that exact same thing. This one, on the other hand-“ He fittingly shook his other hand as he said it, “is making us see the monster behind the scenes. The man exploiting her. It’s neat.” He placed the books back into place on the shelves.

“Aren’t you going to buy one?” Olive asked, looking at him as he contained further into the store.

“Oh I’ve already read it. Multiple times, actually. I have two different copies at home.” 

“Let me guess, one of them is the original plain cover?”

“Both! I got my hands on them a couple years back at a yard sale, of all places. They’re first editions.” He turned toward her when he talked, gesturing with his hands as he did so. He usually did that when he got really excited about something and couldn’t keep his hands in his pockets anymore.

They continued perusing for a bit, before Spencer found his five new books he wanted to buy. As they got home and she made them some coffee, she remarked about how tired she was from just that activity alone. He fired back that they had walked around almost the entire day, it was normal to be tired. But he wasn’t, seeing as he was a “field agent” and therefore “special”. She swatted his arm softly, before beckoning him to please sit with her and watch tv.

He happily obliged.

This was usual for them, since neither had too much of a social life outside of work and they were already in close proximity by living just a few steps away. So they sat there, her fingers tracing delicate pathways into his scalp as she watched a Pirates of the Caribbean movie, and Spencer quietly reading one of his new books. It was normal, the same as it had been for the last year. And what pure bliss normal was.

—————

June, 2000

“I can’t believe you’re leaving for college soon.” Viv stood in the doorway, camera in her hand. She was determined to film the whole summer vacation, so she could look back on it when she left. The rain outside smattered on the windows in Olive’s room, making it impossible for her to focus on the book she was currently reading. That, or her sister constantly bothering her.

“It’s in a month, chill out.”

“A month is nothing! It was three years ago like, yesterday!”

“Awww, are you going to miss me?” She mocked, doing her best puppy-eyes face.

“Never.”

“C’mon, admit it, you're going to miss your big sister, your best friend, your Geeee-ta…” She captured Viv in a tight hug, and lifted her up in the air despite the younger one's protest.

“Släpp mig! Jävla galning- get off of me! My camera-“

“What?” She quickly dropped her sister when she mentioned the camera, knowing that if Viv accidentally dropped it she would be heartbroken. But the camera was safe, and Viv quickly ran away laughing, of course filming the whole ordeal. Olive just stuck her tongue out and returned to her room.

A few hours later, when the rain just wouldn’t stop, Olive decided that she should bake something, and she was really craving some chocolate chip cookies. Viv smelled something and came running, camera in tow.

“You started baking without me?”

“I always bake without you, you just sit there and watch. Then take half the credit when mom and dad ask what we made.” 

“I help sometimes.” She huffed, sitting herself down at the table. “And I help you other times by being your entertainment.”

“Really? Wow, yeah, that’s the most important part. Hey, should I add nuts or just chocolate?”

“OBVIOUSLY add nuts, are you kidding me?” Viv acted almost offended and scoffed at the thought of Olive even having to ask. “Are you nuts?”

“Haha, you’re so funny. Is this the entertainment you were just talking about?”

“Shut up.”

Despite having been told to shut up, Olive spoke again just a few moments later.

“I am going to miss you y’know.” She brought over a small sample of cookie dough that hadn’t made it into the last cookie. Maybe on purpose.

“Yeah, I’m going to miss you too. It’s going to feel weird without you here.” She ate the cookie dough, giving Olive a thumbs up. “Who else am I going to bake with?”

“Who else are you going to watch bake, you mean.”

“Same shit dude.” But she said it with a laugh, and Olive ruffled up her hair before she went to put the first tray of cookies in the oven.

They continued talking in the kitchen, only disturbed once by the phone ringing, which was their mom telling them that it was fine if they wanted to buy pizza tonight since filming was taking its sweet time, and that this was going to be an overnighter.

They celebrated the announcement with a cookie each. And when Olive was on the way to Duke two months later, Viv found the recipe they had used on her desk, with a small note saying that they were always better if made with love rather than skill.

—————

February, 2009

Olive was sitting in a booth in her own cafe when Spencer walked in, searching for her. She waved at him to come over and he did so, happily.

“Aren’t you going to order something?”

“Not that I don’t support your business, it’s just that I can come over anytime and you will give me free cookies. I’m simply being smart with my money.” He grinned at her, and she feigned offense.

“Is this what it feels like, to have your kindness be taken advantage of?” She took a bite out of her cookie, still looking rather disappointed in him.

“I haven’t seen those in stock before.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yeah, I only sell these for Valentine’s Day. They’re a pain in the ass to make all year round.”

“Why?”

“Because, they take way longer than normal cookies. Do you see all these small hearts of chocolate? Yeah, I get up at 6 to come here this whole week to decorate those. Which you have noticed, is way earlier than I’m used to being here.”

“They are really pretty. And love themed, obviously.”

“That’s why I call them Venus cookies.” His eyebrows shot up and he gave her a small smile. “And I’m sure you can guess the other reason why they’re called that.”

“Your sister?”

“Good guess, you win a free cookie!”

“So you’ll give me one last cookie, after that no more free ones? Is that what you're saying?” He leaned on the table, visibly challenging her.

“You know me, that is so obviously not how I roll. You get one guilt free cookie, the rest you have to feel sorry for accepting.” She winked at him, eating the last bite. A moment later, the bell rang and a new customer entered, a newer regular she had seen a few times. She stood up, hugged Spencer and went to help Allison with the wave of customers that usually appeared around this time and were soon going to walk in.

His eyes followed her as she went back behind the counter, quickly switching to her customer service face that she always had behind the counter. He stared at her for a moment longer, before standing up himself and waiting in line to take his order and head back to headquarters.

Chapter Text

Olive was making food in the kitchen when she heard her bell ring. She went to open it, finding Emily outside holding the promised bottle of wine.

“Is that the one you were talking about?”

“Yep, and it’s better than I described.” She hung her coat on the coat rack, entering into the apartment and complimenting the smell of Olives cooking.

“Thank you, I went for a vegetarian carbonara. I have, full disclosure, never cooked tofu before so I’m sorry if it tastes weird.”

“Hey, as long as it’s not terribly burned, I doubt you’ll hear anyone complaining.” Emily threw her hands up, having placed the wine on a kitchen counter already.

Soon enough both Penelope and JJ arrived for their girls night, something that was semi-regular at this point. It had felt weird in the beginning for Olive, seeing as she felt like an outsider due to not working with the other three. But they made sure she felt comfortable and important, something she highly appreciated.

“So, ladiesss, any news? Something happening as of late?” Penelope asked after the dinner. It was surprisingly good, even for Olive’s technical skill in the kitchen. “Maybe our hostess would like to share some fun exciting news?”

“Why me?” She stared at Penelope, confused as to why she was singled out.

“Because… you know why.”

“I refuse to believe I do.”

“Hello! Spencer? That whole thing.”

“We’re just neighbors-“

“Oh come on!” It was JJ’s time to exclaim. “He may be bad at human interaction, but we’re not. You’re so into him.”

“I- fine, yes, sure, BUT, we are just friends. I promise. I’m trying to get over him.”

“Why?” Penelope seemed heartbroken at the comment, although it was probably amplified by the alcohol in her system.

“Because! I like him as a friend, and feelings tend to complicate friendships. I can’t… if he is into me, which he isn’t, and we date, then break up, what will happen then? I lose him as my friend, I lose this friend group as well, and the situation will be extremely awkward seeing as we’re neighbors!”

“This is all under the assumption that you two don’t work out, which I think you will.”

“But he doesn’t even- he’s not into me! Not like that.”

“Are you sure?” Emily asked, brow raised in defiance to her statement.

“Yes. I am.” She looked around the table, sighing before changing the topic. “Something else interesting, my sister's first ever movie is premiering soon.”

“Ooooh, what is it about?”

“It is basically about this artist, right, who gets inspired to make a statue of Venus, after the one really famous painting. You know which one I’m talking about, right?” The rest of the ladies nodded. “Great. And that’s the catalyst for the rest of the plot. He begins to only care for the statue, treating it as though it was Venus, and his whole personal life is a wreck because of it. That’s all that I know about, my sister didn’t want to spoil it for me.”

“How old is your sister again?”

“She turned 24 a few weeks ago.”

“Right. How the fuck did she manage to do this, at her young age?” Olive laughed at the indignant response.

“She has been interested in directing since she was fourteen, that’s how. And industry connections.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, it’s a privilege to grow up in Hollywood when that’s your calling.” She drank the rest of the wine in her glass, and she had to agree, it was better than Emily described.

“If we’re talking about family, do you all want to hear what Henry did last night? It was so cute.”

They started talking about JJ’s extremely cute son, and Penelope’s godson, and the conversation moved like butter. They talked a bit about cases, letting Olive act as a blank canvas to bounce their ideas off of. After that they moved onto personal lives again, with a few more questions about Olive’s feelings for Spencer and if she was ever going to do something with them.

She had to assure them three separate times that she was not.

“By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you, why did you quit acting?” JJ and Emily were lost in conversation right now, so Penelope had apparently decided to ask the one question she was usually apprehensive about. “I mean, your sister is in the business still, so it’s not your parents forcing you out I’m guessing. And you always seem so happy when you talk about that time. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

Olive sighed, knowing that she didn’t have an excuse to not bring it up anymore.

“I… god, it’s a bit heavy. I had a stalker.”

“… oh.”

The mention made Emily and JJ stop talking, turning toward her and looking concerned.

“It’s fine now! It was 17 years ago, or 16 when the letters stopped coming. Well-“ She bit her lip, knowing that the confession was bound to make them pry out every detail she had of her stalker. They were profilers, after all, and it would be impossible for her to conceal anything she wanted to stay hidden.

“Well? What do you mean it ended 16 years ago, because you seem apprehensive about it.” Emily leaned toward her, taking hold of her hand softly.

“Okay, look, it’s nothing now. But a year ago, I got a few more letters. It stopped once I moved.”

“He found you again?”

“I think so, yes.” She tried her best to appear calm, but their faces told a different story. “What?”

“It’s just… stalkers tend to fixate on other people once their object of affection moves away. It’s not specific to them, in that way, they’re just someone for them to project upon. You, on the other hand… you’re sure it’s the same guy?”

“Positive.” She was concerned now, trying to read what their expressions meant. Was she in danger?

“Okay, then… It's bad. That means he is most likely still obsessed with you, he just can’t get to you yet. He will find a way to get to you.” Emily delivered the last sentence so matter of factly that it sent chills up her spine. She had done her best to bury the feeling of being watched and the thought of it being true made her want to puke.

She knew, deep down, that they were correct. There’s just this feeling of not wanting to be wrong, to tell someone about her troubles only to find out that it wasn’t serious. And she felt stupid now; she had professionals saying that she was in imminent danger and she had brushed it off for the last year. She had been willing to almost risk her life, in the end, because she couldn’t bear the thought of telling someone and this whole thing turning out to be a hoax, that she didn’t actually need the help.

She had tears in her eyes, she knew that much. The others consoled her as best they could, but it was already late and they were set to leave soon anyway. They hugged her goodbye, and Penelope went as far as to knock on Spencer’s door to get him to keep her company. He agreed and was there as soon as the other one’s left, making her feel even worse. Now he was worried too.

“Why didn’t you say something? We could’ve helped.”

“I didn’t… I… what if I asked for help, and then the guy was harmless, and you wasted resources on me? I couldn’t live with that.” She was curled up into a ball on her couch, and he was sitting beside her, stroking her back in comfort.

“It wouldn’t be a waste of resources, because he is still a stalker. He could have seriously hurt someone else, even if he wasn’t going to do anything to you.” He was still comforting her, and she leaned on his shoulder for support. There were still tears running down her face, even though her arms were wet from drying so many off.

“I’m sorry.” It was the weakest she’d ever sounded, a mixture of the alcohol and stupidity making her feel pathetic.

“It’s okay, I promise you.” He just held her in his arms, not caring that she had basically lied to him by omission. He comforted her instead, understanding how hard it must be to accept the reality of danger when you weren’t used to it, and when she later relaxed in his embrace he carried her to bed.

“Please, would you stay for the night? I know it’s stupid, but-“

“No problem. Of course I will.” He tucked a stray of hair that had fallen over her face behind her ear again, and she smiled a weak smile. She could barely keep her eyes open, and soon whispered a faint goodnight to him.

He double checked that the door was locked, and then went to the couch to lay down. He didn’t sleep well that night, but he kept his promise and stayed until morning.

Chapter Text

The next Monday, Spencer accompanied Olive to the cafe as usual. But their usual silence didn’t feel as comfortable as it used to, as she was walking with her head down, refusing to look at him, and he was waiting for a good moment to bring up an idea he had.

Since she told him that her stalker had actually reappeared, he had been going it over in his head. He knew that she wouldn’t go to the police — what were they supposed to do, arrest a man for sending letters, breaking and entering a set 17 years ago? It wasn’t enough, and he knew that, it wasn’t even enough for the BAU to formally look into. He could ask JJ, she was better at the legal side, and since this did cross state lines they could maybe have some jurisdiction. But it was unclear if Olive even wanted that, so he had arrived at one sensible decision.

She was cleaning the tables with her usual vigor when he approached the subject.

“I know it’s probably hard to talk about-“ She looked up at him, staring right into his soul with those deep brown eyes of hers. She was obviously not interested in discussing this, but that didn’t stop him. “I’m not saying you should go to the police. They can’t do anything in this situation anyway, so that would be pointless. Just… if I got a look through those letters, I might figure out something about him.”

She was still staring at him, but took a deep breath so as to collect herself before speaking. “Would that even help?”

“Yes! I mean, of course it would. We’d be able to make a profile-“

“Spencer.” She had stopped cleaning now, throwing the rag as softly as she could on the table.

“Yes?”

“I’m not doubting your abilities, absolutely not. But how the fuck are you going to catch a man when you dont know where he lives, what he does, what-“

“That’s the thing! That’s how you-“

“I’ve been TERRIFIED of this man since I was ten, Spence. TERRIFIED. I didn’t- I never went out in high school because I was afraid that he was lurking behind a corner. I didn’t have any friends outside of a few from the drama club, because everyone else thought I was insufferable to be around for too long, since I was so paranoid over something they deemed stupid.” She tried to take another deep breath, but it was shaky, and he could see her whole body tensing up as she spoke. “I’m saying this not to make you feel sorry for me, but so you know how bad I want him gone. He took the best thing in my life and made it bitter and scary. He inadvertently made me the social outcast in my school, which is CRAZY seeing as I was a kid with the famous parents that everyone wanted to meet. I want him gone.”

He looked at her, and he realized that during her monologue he had slowly moved closer, now just inches away. She noticed it too and practically fell into his embrace, muffling the last few words into his shirt.

“I want him gone so bad, and if I let you handle it and you can’t find him, what then?”

“But what if we do?” He held her tighter, refusing to let go before she felt ready to leave his grip.

“But what if you don’t?” She tried to laugh it off, but since she was still holding onto him for dear life he could tell that she was still very much panicking. “What if you, who are the only ones that could solve this, can’t? What would happen then?”

“Are you always this pessimistic?” That made her pull away, just so she could look up at him in offense at the comment.

“I am not pessimistic.”

“You so are. How about, tonight, I read through all the letters you have, make up some theories, kickstart the process?”

“A lot of them are in LA, but I could grab them next time I visit.” She was calming down, and he gave her a reassuring pat as she went back to cleaning.

“That sounds good.”

“I was actually meaning to ask you, since the premiere of my sister's movie is coming up, would you like to come with me?” 

He froze for a second, not sure how to react. “What.. do you mean?”

“Oh I just… I didn’t mean to assume but if you were free, I would like to go to the premiere with you. And then we could get the letters together. It’s just for a day or two, at most, you’ll be right back to work in no time.”

“Yeah, I could do that. Probably, hopefully.” He felt the heat rise on his cheeks, but he hid it by bowing his head, effectively hiding his face.

They talked about something else for a while, and right as she opened the cafe and he was getting ready to leave, a man came in.

“You’re open?’

“Yes! What would you like?” It was still just her working, and seeing as this was a slightly older man, Spencer felt the need to stay. Just in case. 

The man looked Olive up and down, obviously checking her out, before ordering a simple Americano. He tried making small talk as she made the coffee, and it felt as though he hadn’t noticed that Spencer was even there.

“So, are you from around here?”

“Well, I work here.” She was polite, but obviously uncomfortable with the question. He just laughed as though she was joking, not getting that she was uninterested.

“I see that. Maybe I could… take you out sometime.” He was leaning on the counter, much too far into her personal and professional space. 

“Sir, I am very flattered, but-“ He didn’t even let her finish her sentence, already having written down his phone number on a napkin.

“Call me, willya?” He handed her the napkin with a wink before taking his Americano and walking out.

Olive watched the man leave, making sure that he had walked far away before bursting out laughing.

“That was so incredibly awkward.”

“Does that happen often?” He tried to smile genuinely, but the realization of her being attractive to other people as well made him second guess how she possibly felt about him. Their friendship had felt different as of late, but she had other options if she didn’t feel the same way he did. Maybe he did too, but he didn’t want them as much as he wanted her.

And he had no idea how much she wanted him, if she even wanted him.

“I mean, yeah, but it’s men, y’know? Who don’t realize that I’m being polite because that’s how you run a business, and take the niceties we give everyone as flirting. It’s exhausting rather than flattering at this point. Scratch that, it was never flattering.” She looked up to see his dissociated stare and quickly backtracked a bit. “I mean, it’s flattering when you do it, like the other day when you noticed that I did something with my hair, because we’re friends. But random men make me want to tear my hair out instead of styling it differently to see if you’ll notice.”

She was rambling, making sure that he didn’t assume she meant him somehow when she stated “men”. But he did catch the subtle word choice; to see if he would notice.

“No, I get it, but I do have to go to work now. See you later?”

“As always.”

He waved her goodbye, controlling his expression as much as he could. But once he was sure she wouldn’t see him his face broke into a wide smile, at the mere thought of her trying to look nice, or different, or fixing herself, for him.

—————

She realized her slip up in word choice a while later, and she prayed he hadn’t noticed. Unfortunately for her, he very much had, if his grinning expression when she got home was an indication.

She invited him in, putting on the radio before rummaging through her belongings. She knew that she had hidden the letters well, not wanting to accidentally have to rummage through them on a regular day, whilst trying to find something else. She knew exactly where they were, at the back of her closet, in an old shoebox that she never had to look behind or move for any reason other than getting the letters.

“Here.”

Spencer took a good look at the stack of letters, noting that many were unopened.

“How do you know that they are all from the same guy?”

“Most of these, except for these few, came in a bundle. This one was first-“ she pointed to the only rose colored one, that was clearly ripped open. She felt a surge of panic just from looking at it, but she controlled her expression enough that Spencer didn't seem to note it. “Then I got most of them in a bundle, and the others that are opened came in the next few days.”

He was sorting through them, reading inhumanly fast what he could on the opened ones before looking up at her. She was standing with her arms crossed, head down, ashamed. His eyes weren’t judging her though, he just seemed concerned.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t we just go over that?”

He laughed softly, more like a chuckle, and she relaxed a bit.

“You want to stay for dinner?”

“I don't know if I can. You see, I have to get up early tomorrow and my place is really far away…”

“That’s the worst joke I've ever heard.” But she still laughed, taking a few different cookbooks off the shelf. “Would you like some Italian, maybe?”

“Sure, but why not some Swedish meatballs?”

“Nooooo, I don’t have the ingredients for it. Also they take way too long to roll.”

“I could help.”

“You would go to the store and get me some ground up meat as well?”

“Sure.”

She mulled over her answer for a minute. “Fine, yes, then I’ll make them. But you’re paying for the meat!” She poked his shoulder before returning the cookbooks onto the shelf, picking out another one in Swedish.

A few hours later, right after dinner, Spencer decided to stay a little longer. He wasn’t one to procrastinate with work but sometimes, specifically when he had the opportunity to sit on Olive’s couch with his head in her lap, her talking away about various history facts that she had learned throughout the years, he could manage putting off work.

She was going on a tangent about how Holland’s baroque art differed from the rest of Europe, braiding Spencer’s hair whilst he listened. He knew every detail that she mentioned, but he knew the feeling of not being appreciated for what you knew, so he let her talk. Besides, he liked her voice. It was smooth and melodic, almost like she was half singing at times, and he could listen to her for hours.

“Of course Rembrandt is amazing, but I like Vermeer more. The way he depicts his subjects is so peaceful even though they’re in the middle of an action… and of course there are more painters from Holland during the baroque but they’re the biggest ones, as you probably know…”

He was staring up at her and she was currently looking at the braid she had made, and she smiled when she was done. Giggling, she put it over his face so he couldn’t see out of one eye.

“Why did you do that for?” He brushed the braid away so he could see her again, finding that she was looking at him with a wide smile.

“I’m tired and thought it was funny.” As if on cue, she yawned and it earned a chuckle from him. He decided that it was time to go home, grabbing the shoebox of letters on his way out. Hesitating as he stood by the front door, he quickly returned into the apartment. Olive had moved to the kitchen, doing the dishes.

He walked toward her, quickly kissing her temple and mumbling out a goodbye before walking out the apartment. He left her there, standing in the kitchen, handfallen at how to react. She just plunged her hands into the water to distract herself from the surprising act of affection.

“FUCK.” She had, in the split second since pouring the water, forgotten that it was scorching. Scrambling with her hands, she stumbled a bit around the kitchen before calming herself down and running her hands through her hair.

Softly touching her temple where he had just kissed her, Olive started to smile. It turned into a grin that hurt her cheeks from how wide it was, and she knew that she was blushing so incredibly hard that her whole face was most likely red.

She took multiple deep breaths, finally calming down enough to actually clean the dishes. That didn't stop her smile from returning every other minute, when she finally thought she had managed to make it go away.

Chapter Text

Spencer was sitting in his apartment with a coffee in his hand. It was late, and he knew it wasn’t good to be drinking coffee in the evening, but the point was to not sleep before going through some of the letters. So really, how unhealthy could it be?

He started with the opened ones before moving on to the ones that had been bundled up.

Dear Greta,

Have you rehearsed your lines yet? I did promise that I could get you onto any film set you wanted, no?

I know you. You were a shining star up on the screen, a bright future for cinema. Now that you’ve left, it seems much bleaker. You were always cast so wonderfully, your range impeccable, even from a young age. How far you could’ve gone if you just stayed.

Now, we will never see how far you could’ve gone. Of course, your life is beautiful, but how I long that you would’ve stayed in Hollywood. I wouldn’t have had to search so far for you, my beloved. It would’ve made everything easier. But, you will see soon enough, and you will reach your true potential. You will be written into the history books you so adore, and I’m elated that I will be able to put you there. It’s where you belong.

From your utmost devoted

Spencer ran a hand through his hair. Okay, yeah, that was incredibly creepy. The question is, was this the worst of it, or did he accidentally start with the highlight of the bunch?

Beloved Greta,

I don’t care that you haven’t answered. I know you’re scared: you probably don’t remember what I even look like. And as much as I would like to believe that you know me, I am not as stupid as others. Greater men than me have believed that, and they saw reality soon enough.

And I know, I know, that you’ve lived a beautiful life, but I do hope you can see reason soon enough. We, too, can build something strong and wonderful. We can produce an heir. One who isn’t sick, or weak, and will inherit every good aspect of both of us. I know you want kids, I’ve known that since I first saw you.

Forgive me for my forwardness, but I do know you well. You can't deny that, sweetheart.

From yours only.

Okay, this was worse. He noted the usage of “heir” instead of just “child”, but the most basic reading of it was evident from the other letters; this was a raging narcissist. But he wasn’t delusional: he knew well enough that Olive didn't actually know him. So it probably wasn’t erotomania.

Spencer sighed and rubbed his eyes. This was going to be a long night.

—————

“Same as always?”

“That you even have to ask.”

Penelope was once again in the cafe, somehow walking in heels during march.

“So, how's work?”

“Oh just awful. Like, in the way it always is, the kind that I signed up for, but… the last case we had, it was bad.”

“Yeah, Emily told me a little bit about it. How is she holding up?”

“Better, from what I can tell. But actually, now that you mention it, maybe I could take a few cookies for everyone. To lighten the mood.”

“Chocolate chip?”

“Of course.” Penelope took the bag she was handed, sent her a kiss and walked out the door. Fortunately, Olive wasn’t bored for long, seeing as another customer was right behind in line.

“What can I get for you today?”

“Oh, just a regular latte, thanks.” She noted that the man was dressed unusually well for simply buying a coffee, but it wasn’t her business to ask. It was probably her paranoia, noticing every little thing that didn’t fully fit in with the norm. She had become much more jittery since last week, something that had also happened when the letters started appearing again last year.

But really, it wasn’t that weird that someone was wearing professional attire on a normal Wednesday. She served the man his latte and waved him goodbye, desperately trying to register if she had maybe seen him before.

Because what if?

————

12 July, 2005

I still haven’t found where you went, and it’s breaking me down, my love. Everyone else seems bleak compared to you. I don’t get why I’m still trying when I know that you’re the only one I truly love. It’s out of order now, but that’s fine: I deserve a happy ending. You can switch places, and I can get the heir I need. A stronger, healthier one. You wouldn’t let me down, and you most certainly wouldn’t break my heart. You wouldn’t value me for anything other than me.

That’s how it has to be. How else would you have been able to play the part so perfectly? You are perfection, and you complete me. We are perfect for each other, I know that. I just wish I could find you now, not later, and skip everyone in between.

But there’s only one left, and after that, it will be ready. I know that you will be.

Yours, until the end.

Spencer was staring straight out into nothingness as he finished reading this one. It was harrowing, everything from the unsent pile. Some were worse, indicating that this stalker was much more dangerous than he had wanted to think. Some were still haunting, but they at least detailed mundane everyday tasks; with the stalker reportedly “going for a walk to the graveyard, mourning his brother” on the 2 of April 1998. Weird thing to write about, but still, much more humane than talking about there only being one left. 

Something irked Spencer about the letters; most were written on specific dates, which must somehow correlate, but the newer ones that Olive got sent didn't have any dates. Something changed, and with that, the direction he was writing in changed. The obvious point was that he found Olive, and could now write for the real her rather than the fictitious one he had in his mind.

But he couldn’t figure out exactly what “only one left” meant. Worst case, it was about bodies. But it could mean other things too; not years, it had been almost 4 years since the letter was written. But it could have some other nonsensical meaning to the stalker, something they didn't know about yet. Hell, it could mean that he would have to get his heart broken one last time before he could let her heal it.

So, he kept reading.

28 January, 1999

I feel sorry for how you’re going to react when you find out about what I’ve done. But I would never do this to you. Because you wouldn't do to me what she did.

I know that what I do is wrong, for others. But for me, it’s right. No one else would be able to do what I do. You’ll understand, once you find out. And you’ll forgive me. I know that much.

It’s frightening being here, without having you to look for. I don’t have the time right now, and for that I’m sorry, but I will make time. By now, you’d be sixteen, and I’ve figured out that that would simply be too young. For now, I’ll stop looking for you. But it’s hard. Everyday, I want to return to LA and go to your house. It’s not much, I will give you the castle that you deserve, but it’s where you live. And I want to see you so bad, my love, my only love, but I will wait. I will wait until the time is right, when they are all out of the way. There are only two left now.

28 June, 1993

I still haven’t adjusted to not sending you these. I want to contact you, I need to, but only when it feels right again. You’re not ready to meet me, and I realize my mistake. I won't make it again: I’ve scared you off once, so from now on, I will tread carefully. Next time, you will be ready.

I have so much to ask you. And you have so much to learn. I can give you the lessons, no one else will be able to teach you everything I know. You’re invaluable.

It’s almost time. I made a mistake with her, I know that. But I couldn’t help myself, and I hope you understand. You’re next, you know that. I will find you again and set the record straight. I won’t repeat history, I can’t. I won’t make his mistakes. I will be better, I am better. I just need to prove it.

Chapter Text

Her paranoia had slightly cooled off over the past few weeks, but she still insisted on having someone by her side at most times. Naturally, that person became Spencer. Living next to him made them practically attached at the hip whenever he wasn’t on a case, which to be fair was often, but he still called her sometimes to check in during the time he was away. Penelope started doing that too, and she often accompanied Olive home as well.

It was nice to know that she had FBI agents protecting her almost 24/7. That was probably the most protection one could have, without being in witness protection. But she didn’t plan on that for the moment, so she was pleased with just having Spencer around instead.

They were sitting around talking, about nothing in particular. She had made an offhand comment about history repeating itself which prompted Spencer to go on a tangent about how profiles work; in the same way, that behavior repeats itself. She found the whole thing fascinating with how he explained it and how he had all the information in his head.

“And then, when it comes to victimology, it’s about how the victims behave, and why this unsub would choose this victim. To some it seems like we’re blaming the victims, but that’s not really the case; see, if the victims are all over the place, they’re most likely out of convenience. If they’re a specific type, say, brunette female in her thirties, then they’re often surrogates. And that’s not even touching on how to recognize patterns, not just in when they kill but also how, why, what the pattern in everything that they do is.” He was gesturing wildly with his hands as he spoke, and she looked at him endearingly. More so everyday.

“It’s amazing that you keep all that information in your brain at all times.”

“It’s my job, of course I know what we do.” He snorted at her comment, drinking from the cup of tea he had in his hands. It was his, but stored in her apartment almost exclusively by this point.

“Yeah, but how you’re so… descriptive, the fact that you can really put into words the whole process. Even that is impressive.”

“Really? You think so?”

“I do.” She took a sip from her own cup of tea, which was in the shape of a cupcake. Penelope had bought it for her birthday the year prior. “But I don’t know, maybe that’s just me. I’ve never been good at analyzing things.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Huh?” She lowered the cup from her face, staring at him with a puzzled look.

“You’re good at analyzing, just when it comes to media. Artworks, movies, that’s your field. There, you can dissect the meaning of anything.”

“Yeah, but that’s because I know the language painters and actors and directors use.”

“Exactly!” He smirked at her, and she had to realize that he was right. As usual.

“Damn, do I even know myself?”

“You underestimate yourself, that’s for sure.”

“How so?” She cocked an eyebrow at him, making him put down his mug on her coffee table and stare at her. There was an intensity behind his eyes that she usually didn’t see; he was always gentle and kind, but this felt more challenging. Like he dared her to go down that route. She didn’t fully admit it to herself, but she liked being his sole focus in such a clear way. She could practically feel her blush creeping onto her cheeks.

“Well, for starters, the fact that you didn’t report your stalker when he reappeared. You think that your life being in potential danger means nothing.” She stared at him, in both real and faked offense, because she knew that that much was true.

“Okay, geez, you can stop profiling me now. Thanks.” She turned away from him, cheeks burning in what was probably a deep shade of red.

Before being able to change the subject, a knock on her door startled both of them.

“That’s probably Penelope, right?” She hadn’t expected a visit from her so late, but it was always welcome. She hadn’t even mentioned anything about swinging by, although she had done so a few times in the last weeks.

She opened the door to find no one.

No one, but a small red letter on the floor outside her door.

She couldn’t even pick it up, immediately running towards her kitchen and throwing up. Spencer didn’t even have time to ask what happened before he, too, saw the letter. He picked it up with a glove he had in his pocket, making sure not to touch it with anything that would possibly ruin potential fingerprints or leftover dna.

He took in the letter, closed and locked the door before checking on Olive. She was still in the kitchen, curled up in a ball by the sink. She was clearly panicking and he couldn’t blame her.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” He knew better than to hug someone who was panicking, but he couldn’t help the overwhelming need to do so.

“You.. know… that it’s not.” She was taking deep breaths in between every word, trying to calm herself down. He simultaneously lost his inner fight and hugged her tight, something she seemed to calm down even more by. She climbed to him, slightly opening herself up so he could see her face.

“Okay, no, it’s not. But it will be.”

“How did he get in?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and it was shaky as all hell. Her face was streaked with tears and snot, which had soaked parts of her sleeves as well.

“I don’t know-“

“You need a key to get in here. He had a key. What if he has a key to my apartment-“

“Hey, hey, hey now, calm down. There are a million reasons as to how he could’ve gotten in. It’s fine, he doesn’t have a key to your apartment.”

She nodded hastily, accepting his quick excuse. She still clung to him like a lifeline, burying her face in his shirt and wrapping her arms tight around his torso. He patted down her hair, embracing her in a much more gentle way.

“Please,”

“What?”

“Please, stay the night.”

“Sure, I’ll make the couch-“

“No, please, please. I need to have someone to hold. I-“ She dried her tears once more, even though they were still coming. “I really need an anchor. I would- would you be comfortable sleeping in my bed? With me? Please?”

She sounded so weak and defeated, asking for something so incredibly selfish that he in most cases wouldn’t be comfortable with.

“Of course.” He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, before ensuring her that he would be back in just a minute with both his gun and pajamas. Such a weird combination that it made her giggle, a sound that was more than welcome after the last 15 minutes.

He also carried the letter back to his place, hiding it in the same place he had hid the other ones. They were sensitive information, and he figured that it had been the right decision seeing as a stalker, at best, now had access to their building. He returned not ten minutes later with his gun, pajamas, toothbrush and a pair of old slippers he liked to use in the mornings. He also sent a quick text to Hotch that he was going to be possibly a bit late tomorrow, in case he had to convince Olive to go with him. Something told him that she wouldn’t put up much of a fight though.

When he got back, Olive was already dressed for bed. How she had cleaned herself up so fast, he’d never know.

She curled up in bed and after a moment's hesitation, Spencer went under the covers with her. She immediately cuddled up against him, with her head on his torso and hands gently tracing back and forth on his forearms. He turned slightly, so they were in a spooning position more so and she continued the tracing.

He quickly noted that they weren’t random tracing; she was making invisible doodles on his arm, fully fledged figures that she traced over and over again,

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m not sick, if that’s what you’re asking. I just tend to throw up when I’m incredibly stressed.”

“No, I’m asking about how you’re feeling about the letter.”

“Oh.” The tracings stopped for a minute before picking up again, right where she left off. “Obviously not well, but… you’ll figure it out, right?”

“We always do.”

They were quiet for a minute, soaking in the reality of what had happened. Or at least, that’s what he was doing. Realizing that Olive was in more danger now than ever before, probably.

The words he had read over and over again, as he kept coming back to that specific letter. 

I won’t repeat history. I won’t make his mistakes.

You’re next, you know that.

I’ve scared you off once, so from now on, I will tread carefully. Next time, you will be ready.

You’re next, you know that.

“Spencer?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.” She pressed her lips against the pad of two of her fingers, before pressing the fingers down on various small parts of his arm. Gently, softly, like she barely touched his arm. But she did, and he grinned, for a moment forgetting the tragic situation that put them next to each other tonight. Instead, he just kissed the back of her head before putting his arm above her head on the pillow so as to not stop the blood flow.

When they awoke the next day, he realized he’d pulled her tighter towards him during the night. His arm was curled around her waist, and she had turned her body toward him at some point, making his first sight that morning her sleeping form. Her hair was tousled and it was evident that at some point she had cried again: her swollen eyelids and streaky face implicating her. Still, he couldn’t help but find her utterly gorgeous, with a calm serenity to her as she laid there.

His next thought, after brushing some of her hair from her face, was the question of what the stalker meant in that damned letter.

You’re next, you know that.

You’re next.

You know that.

Chapter Text

When Olive finally woke up, she found Spencer in her kitchen drinking coffee from his mug.

“Of course you made the nice coffee.”

“Did you know that Finland drinks the most coffee per capita? The only country in the top five that actually isn’t a Nordic country is the Netherlands.”

“That’s still in Europe.”

“Sweden is sixth on that list, right after the Netherlands. The only non-European country on there is Canada, and it ties with Luxembourg at ninth and tenth place.”

“How the fuck do you have that at the top of your head.”

“I just do.”

“You don’t say.” She filled her own cup with the freshly brewed coffee. “How long have you been up?”

“About an hour.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot, changing stance slightly. “Would you care to follow me to the office?”

She looked up at him through furrowed eyebrows. “Why?”

“So you can report the stalker.”

“Why?” She still looked suspicious at the thought. “What good would it do?”

“It’d make it an official case, and therefore easier to officially investigate. When the time comes.”

Olive took a deep breath in and sighed. “Okay, yeah. Sure.” She took out her phone and called Allison, letting her know that she might not be in today.

—————

“This is where you work?”

“Yeah.”

“Goddamn.”

As they walked through the glass doors, Spencer holding the door open for her, she noticed that the office space he worked in was exceptionally big. Bigger than she anticipated at least, with a lot of space for each desk.

There was also a stack of case files on each desk, and some beside, which just made her feel even more guilty for needing to be here. They already had so much work to do and here she was, giving them more trouble. Of course, Spence was eager to help, and the rest of the team seemed willing as well, it was just her own sense of non-importance preventing her from getting the help.

Something that Spence had pointed out the literal day before. Fucking profiler.

Penelope came out of a door on the left side of the room, spotted her and ran down the small set of stairs as fast as she could. Olive was still a bit overwhelmed by how many people there were around and all the noise, so Penelope had to gently guide her to a side room. It was darker lit than the big area, with many more case files stacked against and on every surface you could imagine.

There was a desk with a chair pushed up to the side, with again, more case files strewn around. Penelope told her to wait a bit, and that JJ would be in soon to get her statement. Spencer had left at this point to go to his desk, but she could see him through the door, periodically looking her way until the minute later when JJ arrived and closed the door.

“Man, I forget how bad this tastes sometimes.” She put down an almost full coffee cup on the table next to all the files, grimacing at the taste.

“Is that why Penelope searched far and wide for my café?”

“You bet.” JJ sat down and scooted her chair in. “So, what was the final straw that dragged you in?”

“You’ve been waiting for me to fold?”

“Oh yeah. We even have a bet going around the office. The only one not in is Hotch.”

“But there’s… I’ve never met him or Rossi?”

“Rossi likes winning. And unfortunately, Emily wins this round. She predicted you’d come in on Friday. Anyway, that’s not important right now.” JJ put her folded hands on the desk, taking a more serious tone. “What happened that brought you in?”

Olive took a deep breath before responding. “Well, yesterday, a new letter came in. I still haven’t read it, I think Spencer brought it over to his apartment before I could. But it was the same color as the first one I got at the last apartment, so I immediately knew it was the same guy. You can probably ask Spencer too, he got a better look at the letter. It was hand delivered also, not sent by mail. Came in really late, at maybe 10 pm?”

“Okay, great. So, if you would just write out a written statement…”

The process of filling out paperwork was easier than expected. JJ guided her through the process, making her write out every detail she could remember about the dates he sent her letters; if they were milestones of any sort, everything possibly related.

“Would you be comfortable going through with a cognitive interview?”

“Uhm, maybe? What is that?”

“It’s a guided interview that we use, to make you remember details you might have forgotten.”

“… about.. what, exactly?”

“You said that there was one time he broke onto set. Now, you didn’t see him, but you might have forgotten something the guards said, or maybe you heard his voice…”

“Okay, sure, I can try.”

“Good, we can commence that in about half an hour. Until then, why don’t you hang around in here. I’ll pull you out when it’s time.”

“Okay, great.”

JJ left, presumably to talk with everyone else and plan out who is going to conduct the interview. She just sat there, looking around the small room. There wasn’t much more to note; a few pictures of Henry and Will on the desk maybe, but nothing new to stimulate her brain.

Thankfully, JJ was back in a few minutes, pulling her into another room. It was a bigger office, and they didn’t seem to have a normal waiting room anywhere. She sat down on the couch, tugging on her sleeves before watching the door open. Derek stepped in, and sat down on a couch before her.

“My guess is you’re conducting the interview?”

“If you’re comfortable with that. If you’d rather have Emily, JJ or Spencer…”

“No it’s fine. But um, how…”

“Trust me, and it’ll be fine. Now, close your eyes, and tell me how the air felt that day.”

—~—

Inside the studio, the air was warm, but outside it was colder. I could smell hairspray and perfume in the air, and it was so strong it gave me a slight headache. But the strongest smell that came from my stylist was a soft, flowery perfume she was wearing, which did help with the headache. It wasn’t too strong, but it kept other smells at bay.

I could see herself in the mirror, having my hair curled in a very specific way. 1910’s, the era that movie was set in. To keep me focused, the stylist asked me questions about art history, a subject she knew I liked and knew a lot about.

Outside of the room they were in, people were shouting. It was mostly unintelligible.

“Who was shouting?”

Guards. There was a disruption and they needed to fix it.

“Focus on the guards. Did one of them say anything specific about this disruption?”

Yes..? Yes! The one closest to my door, who stood right outside it, said something about a man. Short brown hair, beard, in a suit. White.

“Anything else?”

My stylist didn’t want me to understand that someone was there for me, so she told me more facts about art history. She told me about Van Gogh and starry night.

The guard said something, but… there was another noise, almost drowned out by him. A thud, like something fell over  in the room above.

“Okay, what was in the room above?”

Old cleaning supplies. On the first day of filming in that specific studio, they had gone through all the rooms and put most of them to use. But the room above mine was small and already filled with stuff, so they didn’t bother putting anything else in it. Nobody ever went in there.

I remember the stylist soothing me, patting down my hair. They said that he had left the premises, that they couldn’t find him, and took me home. We didn’t film anything that day.

—~—

“You can open your eyes now.”

She did, and discovered that Derek was looking at her sternly. In the few times she had met him and from all the stories she had heard from Penelope, he always seemed really goofy and flirty, so it felt unnerving to have him looking at her like that.

He opened the door, letting Spencer in. He had been waiting outside for the last couple of minutes, wanting to check on her after the interview was done.

“Did you find anything?”

“Oh god… I don't think he left.”

“… what?”

“That thud, it doesn’t make sense. I didn’t even think about it before, but that has to have been him. Which means he knew where I was staying, and how to get around the place. And they didn't find him, which means…”

“If that sound is what you think it is, then yes, it’s possible that he hid in that cleaning closet.”

“And who knows when he left.” She was spacing out, the small revelation weighing heavy on her shoulders. If they hadn’t sent her home that day, what could have happened to her? Would he have waited in her room? Did he go around smelling everything to get a whiff of her scent, for a quick fix in lieu of failing to see her?

Had he broken in the following days too, and hid himself even better?

She felt a bit catatonic, which earned her a side hug from Spencer as he lead her out of the office.

“How do you feel?”

“Bad. Just… bad.” She took a deep breath, composing herself. “What now?”

“Well, we got your statement, ran a cognitive interview of the only known time you were close to the stalker, the only thing left is really getting the letters here so we can start dissecting them.”

“And then you’ll find him?”

“Somehow, we will. I promise you.”

—————

Olive had left for the cafe with Penelope in tow, and Spencer was with Derek, walking back to the apartment to get the letters.

“So you and Olive…”

“We’re neighbors and close friends.” He was currently opening the door to the building, letting Derek walk in first.

“Mhm. Close friends.”

“Yes? What are you getting at?”

“What I’m getting at, pretty boy, is that you came into work today late, with a pretty girl in tow, blush high on your cheeks-“

“You can stop that now thanks-“

“And you’re still trying to fool me, that the two of you are just good friends?”

“Yes! Because that is the truth.” They finished the last flight of stairs, walking toward his door.

“Now, JJ said something, about you carrying the letter to your apartment, and that she didn't even open it. Who doesn’t open a letter, that they suspect is from a stalker, before calling for help? Especially someone who hates making a fuss about things and therefore would double check… unless, they’re not alone in their apartment, and help is already there.”

“Are you trying to gauge a confession out of me?”

“Is it working?” He said it with that self assured smirk, the one where Derek just knew he was right.

“I don’t know why it matters, but yes, I was at her apartment when the letter arrived.”

They had arrived in his apartment, and Spencer was trying to retrieve the letters. 

“Oooooh, lover boy has a crush.”

“I do not.”

“You think no one would notice that when she goes to the bar with us, you arrive together, sit together, talk with basically only each other until someone else directly talks to you, and then leave together? No?” Spencer made a face at that, blush rising on his cheeks. “Hey, I caught that!”

“Can we focus on work, please?”

“Right.” Derek was able to shut up for approximately one and a half minutes. “We can’t let something happen to your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my-“ He swung around a bit too fast, blush now clearly evident.

“I know kid, I’m messing with you.” Derek smirked again, and afterwards laughed at Spencer's embarrassed expression.

“I understood that.” He mumbled, pulling out the box of letters he had hidden. He unfortunately noticed that, as they were making their way down, he took an extra moment to look at Olive’s door even though she wasn’t there.

As though just seeing her door was some sort of fix, like not having seen her for an hour had him parched for her presence.

And of course, Derek noticed the slight pause. It did not help his claim of “not having a crush”.

Chapter Text

It was a late night, and Olive was spending it locked in her apartment. Spencer had been pulled away on a case, which meant she was utterly alone for the few days he was away. The half finished painting she was currently making was the only sign she had actively been doing anything except staring out the window for the duration of the week, and it was just a sloppy self portrait of herself since she had wanted the time to pass but had zero inspiration.

Fortunately for her, the waiting game was almost over, as Spencer had called earlier that day. He told her that they were returning and had just finished up at the crime scene, leaving her much more calm and even inspired afterwards. The portrait had seemed to gain some semblance of feeling behind those previously dead eyes.

As if on cue, she heard a knock on her door. Looking through the peephole, she saw Spencer standing there, takeout in his hand.

“Welcome back.” She hugged him before taking the takeout from his hand, placing it on her table. “How did you know I hadn’t eaten?”

“Because I know you. Every time we’ve had a case the last few weeks, you stay in here, paint, and then forget to eat once you know I’m coming back. I think it’s because the relief of knowing safety is right around the corner again make you forget basic needs and you become absorbed in-“

“Fucking profilers I swear-“

Despite her played up irritation, she was happy to see him again.

“Also, it’s a late birthday present.”

“But… you bought me something for my birthday already? Also, is Thai a birthday present now?”

“A birthday gesture, then.”

“That’s more acceptable.” She gave him a pat on his shoulder, smiling as she turned around again to the food. She set the table, but not too fancy, just bringing out a pair of plates for them to load the food onto.

“Weird thing, I didn't get any letters for my birthday. I thought I would, because, I mean, it’s a milestone, right? But no, I got nada. They weren’t even delayed, which wouldn't make sense seeing as they’re always hand delivered, but I expected something.” 

“Huh.” Spencer looked at her, puzzled. She mimicked his expression, making him smile for a second before turning serious again. “That is interesting. He obviously knows everything about you, he has to know when your birthday is. But that has to mean it isn’t important to him, for whatever reason.”

“Exactly! Not to sound to selfish, but if I’m the object of his affections, wouldn’t he be actively seeking me out on a day that is special to me?”

“That’s- a really good point.” Spencer was furrowing his eyebrows, occasionally remembering to eat the food in front of him.

“Wait, it is?”

“Yeah, I’ll take it up with the team.”

She was genuinely surprised that it was even slightly important, but maybe every small detail was. Everything told them something about the stalker. She still hadn’t fully understood the intricacies of profiling, she just liked to throw it around as a term when her friends successfully psychoanalyzed her.

They didn't speak more during the dinner, but as she was washing up he brought something else up.

“That studio he broke into, did you ever film there before?”

“Uhm… once. When I was eight.”

“Right… and the letters started a year later?”

“A year and a half, about.”

“But he broke onto the set when you were ten, not nine.”

“Yep.” She was tired of digging through the old memories, but knew it was essential to the case.

“It doesn’t make sense…”

“I’m sure that in his mind, it does.” She rummaged through her freezer, grinning when she found what she was looking for. “You want some ice cream?”

“Oh, sure.”

She made them two bowls that she placed on the coffee table in her living room, and took out a few dvd’s when she remembered something. “Hey, this means you're free for LA?”

“Yeah, I was going to take a few days off anyway since it’s technically gathering evidence, but I don't think I need to now. This case was pretty psychologically brutal.”

“Oh, what happened?”

“This little boy killed his younger brother.”

“Oh my god…” she stopped shifting with the dvd’s, instead just looking up at him. “That’s… yeah, that’s brutal. What- why?”

“He got angry that the brother accidentally broke his toy plane.” She looked at him, astonished, at the fact that such a small thing triggered a child into killing his brother. “We actually caught another child murderer that we at first thought was involved in this killing.”

“You accidentally caught another killer? You caught two separate killers in one case?”

“Yep.” He did that awkward smile thing he often did, the one where it looked like he forgot he could use his cheeks.

“Okay, now- could we talk about something other than crime? Please?”

“That’s reasonable. Did you find a movie we can watch?”

This was a bit of a tradition for them; he came home from a case, and unless he specifically told her he had other plans, they watched a movie and talked. About the case he had just solved, about drama at the cafe, or just about anything that popped up in the moment. Sometimes they didn’t talk and just sat there on the couch, watching the movie and enjoying each other’s company.

She put on Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's stone, the only Harry Potter movie she had on dvd. They had watched it a few times before but it was a comfort, to her at least. Watching a boy defeating evil incarnate was obviously part of it, but knowing what would happen next also brought a feeling of comfort and familiarity. She had never read the books, but the movies had a special place in her heart. Especially the Sorcerer's stone.

For once, she had her head in his lap rather than the other way around, and he was running his hands through her hair, sorting out knots that had formed throughout the day.

“You know, Stanislavsky has this theory about theater. Or rather it's a play style, in the same way Brecht is a play style. For every action you make, you have to have a purpose. You can’t just walk across the stage because it looks good, you're walking across the stage because you’re searching for something. Don’t just sit passively, and if you do, think about why you sit passively. It’s obviously one of the most integral parts of theater-“

“Your apartment smells really bad.” She turned her head from the TV to look up at him, mouth open in offense.

“It’s the turpentine!” She swatted his arm, but when he dragged his hand away from her hair she quickly reached out and put it back. “It’s temporary, soon enough it will smell like cinnamon buns or something.”

“I hope.”

“I’m the one who lives here, you don’t have a say in how my home smells like.”

“I spend so much time here, that I feel like I should have a say.”

“That’s your choice.”

“Your point?”

She didn't really have one, so she just turned back to the TV and mumbled out a quiet “fuck you”. He heard it, but thankfully didn't stop stroking her hair.

“Hey, if it isn’t too much to ask…” He stopped himself mid sentence, unsure if he should ask whatever that was on his mind.

“Hmmm?” She turned her head slightly, to show that she was listening even whilst watching the movie. They were at the point where the trio discovered fluffy.

“It’s, uhm… okay, look, since a few years back I’ve been having frequent nightmares, and this case… I don’t know, I just don’t want to sleep alone tonight. And last time when I slept over was probably the best night of sleep I’ve had in years…” He sounded vulnerable and insecure when he said it, and it took every ounce of willpower in her to not just confess her love right there, that he could stay over anytime and she would never feel even slightly uncomfortable. Instead, she opted to ease the tension.

“You want to have a sleepover?”

“Can you not phrase it like we’re two thirteen year old girls, please? I’m pretty sure I don’t have to ask for permission from my mom on this.” She laughed at his dry response, reaching out to pat his knee. She didn’t want to seem flirty in the gesture.

“Of course you can stay over. It’s no big deal, really.”

—————

His heart was beating hard in his chest and he hoped Olive didn’t notice. It was obviously not the first time they did this but now that it was for his comfort, it felt different. As though she would see through the ruse of him needing her to ease his nightmares, although that part was true, and understand that what he really wanted was to just be close to her.

It didn’t matter that they were going to be staying in hotel rooms, separated by only a thin wall, in a couple of days. That they were practically going on a vacation together, one where she assured him that he didn’t need to pack a nice suit because her parents stylist would arrange their outfits for them, that he was meeting her parents. That she trusted him to that level. It didn’t matter that they were practically inseparable at most times of the day: he still couldn’t get enough.

And maybe it was because she eased his nightmares. Because right now, he was laying in bed next to her, with her curled up in his arms and tracing the lines in the palm of his hand.

“What’s the nightmare about?”

“They’re different every time.” He tried to focus on answering, but his concious kept getting dragged back to her fingers tracing. “Sometimes… it’s a baby, in the middle of a room. And there’s a woman, but I can’t save her and the baby. I have to make a choice.”

“That sounds… debilitating.”

“There’s another one, that is it turned out, wasn’t only a nightmare. I had an imaginary friend when I grew up, who was actually a kid who got murdered in my neighborhood. I had this dream of what happened to him, of his… body behind the dryer. And then, a while ago, whilst in Las Vegas, the dream changed. And I saw the murderer.”

“Okay…” she turned in his grasp, now looking at him as he talked. She stopped the tracing whilst doing so, and he took the opportunity to play with her hair.

“The murderer was my dad then. And I hadn’t seen him for seventeen years, considering he walked out and didn’t look back, so I just thought that… my subconscious was telling me something about him. So, me, Rossi and Morgan solved it.”

“The case from your childhood?”

“Yeah. My dad wasn’t the killer, thankfully, but… the dream didn’t go away because of that. It’s easier to rationalise, sure, but when you’re dreaming,,. It’s hard to distinguish facts.”

“Who could’ve known?” She smiled up at him, a tired smile, but genuine nonetheless. 

They were inches, no, centimeters apart, but he couldn’t dare overstep her boundaries. It would make everything so much more complicated if he tried something now, and she rejected him. He didn’t want to risk it, and being able to look in her chocolate brown eyes was enough for him. He didn’t need more than that.

“I do have a third kind of nightmare, but they’re usually traumatic flashbacks. And as much as I trust you, I don’t want to bring those up right now.”

“That’s fine.” She curled in closer, embracing him and pressing herself into his chest. “I love hearing your stories, but I’m tired right now. You can tell me on the plane instead.”

“With your head on my shoulder, as you’re falling asleep?”

“I’m not usually that tired.” As if to contradict herself, she yawned at that exact moment, earning a chuckle from Spencer. “That was an accident, I swear.”

“Wonderful timing, darling.” He couldn’t help the pet name from falling off his tongue, but she was so tired she didn’t even seem to notice. She just turned her back to him again, mumbling out a tired “goodnight” before relaxing even more in his arms.

When her breathing evened out, and he was about to go to sleep himself, he pressed a quick, delicate kiss to the back of her head before pulling her in by her waist, holding her even tighter.

“Goodnight.”

Chapter Text

April, 1990

He was accompanying his wife onset, bringing her flowers so she felt appreciated. It was best to keep her happy: keep up the facade that everything was fine, just like she wanted. Their end was going to come soon enough, since he was beginning to get lazy with his affairs. He barely even tried to hide them anymore, really, but she has yet to figure out more than that his behavior was slightly colder.

It’s almost as though she wanted him to cheat, really. With all the being away for filming nonsense. As though he didn’t have enough to support them both, and with just a few good investments, he could probably make a name for himself in the stock market. But that was her problem, wasn’t it, underestimating him.

But it was on this dreadful day, when he was bringing his wife flowers in the small studio outside of town, that he caught the first glimpse of her. Long, blonde hair that almost glittered in the sun. She and her co-star, another young girl, came out of a room for presumably hair and makeup, giddy as they spun around in their dresses. They waved at everyone around, even him, and he politely waved back. He was a gentleman, after all, and who couldn’t resist such cute, young, lively girls and their energy? It made him want to smile, how lovely they seemed. To good for this hell of an industry.

He went inside his wife’s room, and she lit up once she saw the flowers he brought for her.

“For me? Honey, you shouldn’t have.”

“Of course I did it for you, my Queen. But… quick question, who are those two girls outside?”

“Oh, Breanna and Greta, you mean? Lovely girls really, and so talented! They just light up the whole room whenever they’re on set.” She laughed politely, turning the flowers around to get a good look at them. She placed them on her desk after thorough inspection, giving him a quick kiss before disappearing somewhere else on set. He was left to wander the premises for another hour, before giving up on playing the supportive husband and returning home.

October, 1991

It was a long shot, and he knew that, but as his whole life was in the brink of collapse she was the only thing he could hold onto.

His wife found out about his latest affair, and all hell broke loose. She was screaming, crying, throwing things in their beautiful apartment that he paid for. It was absolutely unacceptable, and he told her as much, and she just slapped him across the face instead. The last thing she had said to him was that he would never, ever, get to see their daughter again.

Fine, that didn’t matter. He needed an heir.

Admittedly, he didn't even try to hide the affair. He was almost shocked that she didn’t realize it sooner, but now she had, and it was all because he chatted with someone else at his own parents funeral. She really couldn’t have picked a worse timing to find out, really. And besides, since when was it inappropriate to talk with someone else at a funeral? Did he really have to devote all his time to her? No, he was better off without her, that egotistical bitch.

But then, the new one invited him to the premiere of her movie. Of course, that movie was one of the reasons he even flirted with her in the first place, but she wasn’t the shining star he thought she would be. Sure, her rendition of Anne of Cleves was fine, but she would’ve been better as Anne Boleyn. But nothing, nothing, compared to the young Jane. Of course, the movie got details wrong, but he blamed the writers for that, and the actress who played a grown up Jane didn’t have the softness the role required. Greta played Jane so wonderfully, so softly, so elegantly , it was like she was made for the role and he was in awe the entire time she was on screen. He knew then, that he needed her. No one else could be the love of his life, it had to be her.

It would take a while, he didn't want anyone to find out of course. If they knew, they’d understand, but laws plagued this country and some of his neighbors were so brainwashed that they would rat him out. So he would wait for her. And until then, he would take care of the one he had now. Not well, god knows she didn’t deserve that, but until the time was right he would hold onto her. He couldn’t bear being alone.

So as his new girlfriend was out doing whatever, he sat down to write his first ever love letter to her. The day had been overwhelming for him; his thoughts of her and Jane blended. So, on the 24th of October, he finally wrote it, and he had never felt so good. Finally, she would know of him, the way he knew of her.

June, 1992

She hadn’t come to the premiere. Why hadn’t she come to the premiere?

The best actress of the bunch, younger than all of the sleazy, washed up wannabes that had arrived, had opted out of the red carpet. He had heard about her retirement through the grapevine; but not showing up to the last red carpet? He couldn’t believe it.

He had flipped through every magazine, for the mention of her, for anything. But there was nothing. He threw the magazine he was holding on the ground, hard.

“Jeez love, be careful.”

He looked up at his fiancé, and rolled his eyes. She wouldn’t understand. She would be angry, no less. She would refuse to understand that he needed this, this was his fix, his anchor to the cruel world that punished him by showing what his fate would be if he didn’t keep himself in check. He turned toward the stairs, trying to head up to his office.

“Really? You’re going to write again? You know, we have a wedding to plan! I want to announce this to people, to tell them it’s finally happening. Instead, you’re just moping about for some fucking reason that you won’t even tell me.” She followed him, angrily stomping her way up the stairs. “You know, sometimes, I think about leaving. You don’t want that, do you?”

He stopped in his steps, just feet away from his office door. “No, I would not want that.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, but not because he necessarily wanted her close by. He couldn’t be alone but he sure as hell couldn’t let her mess everything up. She wasn’t allowed to leave, that would mean repeating history, and he would be pathetic if he just let her go.

“Good. So fucking act like it.”

He heard her turn around, and knew that this was it. If he didn't do it now she would find any excuse to leave. So he grabbed the heaviest object in his near vicinity, a golde candle holder, and smashed it into her head. She fell to the ground with a scream, but she wasn’t unconscious. He heard her crying, and saw her weak attempt at crawling away before he bent over and picked up her slumping form. Still holding the candle holder in one hand, he threw her over his shoulder with the other one and began his descent to the basement.

Chapter Text

As Spencer and Olive exited the airport, there was already a car waiting for them. The driver, who she recognised, looked at her with a raised eyebrow when she said that Spencer was also joining them. But he didn’t say anything, just nodded curtly and gestured at them to get in.

“Your parents have a personal driver?”

“I mean… no? They don’t have him constantly employed, they just tend to hire the same guy every time I come into town. It’s easier.”

He did the awkward smile, showing he understood, before trying to load their bags into the trunk of the car. The driver gently stopped him, explaining that he was going to take care of it.

When they sat in the car, Olive was mentally preparing herself for the introduction between her parents and Spencer. It wasn’t often she had introduced long term friends to them, much less friends who were helping catch her stalker. Spencer noted her nervous behavior and put a calming hand on her leg. She smiled at him, before realizing that she would have to tell her parents that the stalker had resurfaced and that they needed the old letters he wrote to her. When she remembered that, her face fell, and she ran through the best excuses that would make them the least mad that she hadn’t told them.

“Hey, it’s going to be fine.”

“You can’t possibly know what I’m stressing over.”

“You didn't tell your parents about the stalker yet and now, you don’t know how to tell them you need the old letters without them getting either mad or worried.”

“Okay fuck you.” He laughed, making her relax slightly.

“As I said, it’s going to be fine. I can tell them, I’m the FBI agent after all.”

“You would do that?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Thank you.” She showed her gratitude by leaning on his shoulder for a short second, before sitting straight in her seat again. They were almost there.

—————

“Min lilla dotter, så stor du har blivit!” Her mom stood right inside the door, arms stretched out as she walked toward Olive.

“Hi mom.” She gave her mom a well deserved long hug, before turning toward her father who was also waiting on her with open arms. “Hi dad.”

“You’ve grown since we last saw you, haven’t you?”

“I saw you five months ago, I’m pretty sure that’s impossible.”

“Well it sure feels like it, I still remember when you were just to my knee-“

“And who might you be?” Her mother interrupted her and her father’s conversation, looking Spencer up and down.

“This is my close friend and neighbor, Doctor Spencer Reid.”

“Yes, right, you talked about him last time you visited. I’m Greta’s mother, Naomi. That’s my husband and her father, Adrien.”

“Pleasure to meet you.”

“He is, uhm, actually here for more reasons than just being my friend. You see, he is an FBI agent…” Olive trailed off, not wanting to state the reason outright.

“As you mentioned, yes.”

“I’m here as part of an ongoing investigation.” Spencer added.

“Oh. And you still have time for the premiere?”

“I’m just here to gather some evidence.” He looked at Olive, who gave him a slight nod. “Olive’s stalker has resurfaced, unfortunately. And we need the old letters he sent her. Do you remember where they are?”

“Oh my god…” Her mother switched between looking at her and looking at Spencer, before furrowing her brows slightly and focusing on Olive. “Greta, why didn’t you tell us? He’s after you again?”

“I- yes, but, they’re handling it. This is just the secondary reason we’re here, the main reason is to go to Viv’s movie. I promise.” Both her parents were looking indignantly at her, disapproving that she kept this from them. She tried to distract them by asking where Viv was.

“She is running around, making sure everything goes perfect. She is more stressed about this going well than her own wedding.”

“Wait, Anthony finally proposed? Why haven’t I heard about this?” Her mother's eyes told her everything she needed to know. “I am sorry for not telling you about the stalker, I didn't want to worry you too much.”

“Still… Greta, you should’ve told us.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“He hasn’t proposed yet. He is planning on doing so tomorrow night, at the celebratory dinner.” Her father explained. “But right now, we need to get you up to your rooms. Dinner is in an hour.” He gave Olive a quick kiss on her forehead before guiding them to go up the stairs.

Olive took Spencer’s arm in hers, showing him where the guest room was before returning to her childhood bedroom. Their doors were opposite each other, thankfully, so he wasn’t too far away. Soon enough, her mother came up the stairs with the two boxes full of letters she received in her childhood.

“This was all of them.”

“Thank you mom.” She got a quick kiss on her cheek before her mother cradled Olive’s face in her hands.

“My baby.” She got another quick kiss on her nose. “You’re not in trouble, I understand why you did it. But don’t hesitate to ask us for anything again, okay?”

“I won’t, I promise.” She smiled and her mother let go, turning to walk out of the room. But she stopped in the doorway, adding her two cents on Spencer.

“He’s real handsome, you know. Don’t squander this.”

“I… won’t?”

And with that, her mother walked out of her room and downstairs, leaving a slightly confused Olive at what she was supposed to not squander. She started unpacking when Spencer appeared in her doorway.

“Your parents seem lovely.”

“Ah, thank you. They are.” She stopped unpacking for a moment to look at him. “You do know that we will have to get up ridiculously early tomorrow, right?”

“I’ve heard stories.”

“Whoever told them probably understated the whole process. Even as a kid, they started doing my hair at around 7 am.”

“Sounds fun.”

“It was not. And now, you will be going through that torture with me.”

‘What time is the premiere again?”

“5 pm, and then it’s an after party at… god, I've forgotten. I’ll talk to Viv about it.”

—————

Olive hadn’t exaggerated how grueling the next day would be. In fact, she had undersold it herself.

He hadn’t expected her parents to have hired him a whole team as well, and he had really not expected them to have a tailored suit ready for him. They did his hair, cutting it a bit and combing it back with gel, reminiscent of how he styled it three years prior. But they let it be more curly than he had back then, and he still had a part rather than it being a back slick. It almost looked like how he styled it everyday, the only big change being that a strand of hair didn't fall in his face every two seconds.

They also gave him slight makeup to cover a few red spots he hadn’t even noticed. Soon enough he was put in the suit, and he suspected this process was much shorter for him than it was for Olive. Sure enough, when he came out of the room they used to style him, the clock was only 12.

He waited around for a few hours, thinking more about the profile for the stalker. Chances were, he would also be at the premiere, just for the chance to be close to Olive. Meaning that Spencer would have to be at her side 24/7, just in case.

He wasn’t exactly much of a bodyguard, but the stalker would most likely not attack her with a witness.

“Jesus, this was worse than I remembered.”

He was dragged out of his thoughts by Olive’s voice, and he turned to look at her. His breath hitched in his chest at the sight of her.

She was wearing a floor length, dark green dress in a satin fabric. It was form fitting, with a corset top and two straps that were designed to fall off her shoulders rather than  stay on. Her hair had been curled in loose curls, contrasting the natural waves she usually had. She also had a deep red lip, something he had never seen her in, but it fit her really well, and the smokey eyed makeup look they did for her also brought attention to her eyes.

All he could muster up was a “Wow.”

“I know, right? I’m feeling really good about myself right now honestly. You look nice, as well.”

“I- yeah, thanks.”

She squinted her eyes and walked up close to him. For a moment he was unsure what she was doing, until she swore under her breath and took a few steps back.

“I have three inch heels on and you’re still taller than me.”

“Salty, much?”

“Very.” She smiled at him, giving him another look over before she looked at the clock that was on the wall. 2 pm. “They’re probably going to call for us any minute. This feels incredibly nostalgic, I have to say.” 

—————

They arrived on the red carpet, and it was much more hectic than you’d expect from a director's first movie. That said, there were some big names on the cast list, and her parents were famous as well. It wasn’t a huge stretch to assume that a lot of people were interested in this.

“Okay, remember, keep your chin up, good posture, self assured strides. Don’t walk as though you’re unsure where you’re going, every step is going to be photographed so it should almost look rehearsed.”

“Are you sure our pictures are going to be top priority for paparazzi?”

“They absolutely won’t, but it doesn’t hurt to never show a bad side.”

She was a tad bit wrong. When they stepped onto the red carpet, right after her parents, the crowd fell silent for just a moment. It was the calm before the storm, seeing as immediately afterwards people were shouting at them both to stand like that, or look this way, or smile at them. 

Because, as it turned out, her being shielded from the media had fuelled local rumors that she was actually dead, and her family covered it up. And yet here she was, all grown up and with a man by her side. They even asked her to ditch Spencer, for just a few moments, so they could take some solo pictures of her. It was much more of a whirlwind than she anticipated.

When they finally came off the red carpet, Vivianne found her practically immediately, giving her a quick hug before turning toward Spencer.

“Är det här grannen? Nej, förlåt, din pojkvän?”

”Ha ha, sluta. Och ja, det är han.”

“Du gör sååå grejen just nu.”

”Vad för jävla grej är det du syftar på?!”

“Hiiii Spencer, nice to finally meet you! I’ve heard so much about you.” Her sister ignored Olive’s glare, refusing to elaborate on “the thing” she was doing.

“Oh, thanks. Vivianne, right?”

“That’s me. The director. Holy shit I can actually say that now!” She gave them both an incredibly excited smile, before seeing somebody else and excusing herself.

“What did you two talk about in Swedish?”

“You do not have to worry about that, she was just being an annoying piece of sh-“

“Spencer?”

He froze up at the unidentified voice, looking at Olive in shock. She just stared back at him, confused over the reaction before turning toward the person who had addressed him.

“Oh my god, Lila Archer?”

“Yeah, hi, I’m in the movie. Spencer? Doctor Spencer Reid?”

“Hi, Lila.” He had now turned around, hand snaking around Olive's waist for comfort. She noticed the gesture and looked up at him, furrowing her brows over the sudden show of affection. Honestly, it looked like they were a couple when he held her like that.

“You two know each other?” Olive asked, doing her best to look natural as the tension thickened. Spencer looked white in the face and was still refusing to open his mouth, looking less expressive than she had ever seen him.

“I had a stalker a few years back, he and the BAU helped catch her. What are you doing here?“

“He’s here as my… date, for the evening. Uhm, I’m the director's sister.”

“Wait, as in Greta Berg-Smith? I thought you were dead.”

“Reassuring to hear that. Also, I go by Olivia now.” She laughed, trying to ease the tension in the room and shifted a bit closer to Spencer, letting his arm hug her waist even tighter. What the fuck was up with him? “So, how was it, working with my sister?”

“Oh she’s great, really, wonderful for a first timer. But, you said date?”

Was she really focusing on her and Spencer’s relationship right now? When they were at the premiere of a movie she was starring in?

Oh my god, had they had a fling?

“I guess that’s how you’d describe it, yes.” Spencer’s hand was gripping her waist for dear life, it felt like, and the only thing that would make that make sense was if Spencer and Lila had had something more than just professional interactions.

“Seems like your acting career is going well.”

“It sure is!” Someone else called after Lila, so she too excused herself. The movie was going to roll any minute now anyway, so the pair made their way to the salon.

“What happened between you two?” She was ignoring the anxious ball in her chest, that was telling her that she didn’t want to know what their situation had been.

“She said it herself, we helped catch her stalker a few years back.”

“No, you don’t get that kind of tension from catching her stalker. Did you hook up or..?”

“What? No! We just… look, I was basically her bodyguard for the evening-“

“Sounds familiar.” She snickered.

“Shut up.” He blushed at what she was implying, but continued the story. “She dragged me into her pool, we made out, that was it. Nothing more.”

“You didn’t think to tell me that you made out with Lila Archer?” They sat down in their assigned seats, whispering as the other people around also tried to find their way.

“How was that going to come up naturally?!”

“Good point.” She smiled at him, and couldn’t help adding; “Do you have an incredibly specific type? Blonde actresses with stalkers?”

“Are you implying that you’re my type?”

“Hey, I’m just saying, you didn’t correct me when I introduced you as my date.”

“Fuck off.” But he smiled back at her, which was, at least, a positive response. Maybe she did have a chance with him.

—————

As he was packing his stuff the next day, seeing as both he and Olive had opted out of going to the after party due to still having jet lag and needing to get back the next day, he heard a knock on the door.

It was Naomi, Olive’s mother. He thanked her for her hospitality, telling her that their house was absolutely gorgeous.

“Thank you, darling, but… there’s something I would like to say to you. Sit, please.”

He did as he was asked, sitting down on the bed as Naomi sat down in a chair opposite him.

“Greta hasn’t had many boyfriends in her life. Hell, she hasn’t had that many friends either.” He tried to interrupt to explain that they were, in fact, not dating, but she held up a manicured hand that let him know he should wait his turn to speak. “But I can see she cares alot about you. More so than she might even realize. So I ask you to please, take good care of her. She deserves it. I’ve heard you have three doctorates?”

“Yes ma’am, that’s correct, and three bachelors in-“

“Then please, put that brain to good use and catch the man that is terrorizing her. I can’t… It hurts, everyday, in my mom heart, that she can’t live her life to the fullest. And I trust you, that you’ll solve this for her.” He nodded, showing that he understood, before she yet again continued speaking.

“She would never admit this herself, but it’s important, so I will tell you instead. She doesn’t do anything for herself. Now, acting, that was her calling. She was amazing at it, could’ve gone far. But she opted out of it out of fear for her life. And since then, she’s been scared to do stuff just for herself. When she began painting, I think she only kept doing it because Venus loved getting them as gifts, since she was always better at the history behind the paintings. Same with baking, it was an activity she would often do with Venus. This doesn’t mean she doesn’t like it, she obviously has her cafe, but it does mean that she needs outside support for her to do something. Please do keep that in mind.”

“I… will, thank you.”

“You’re a good fit for each other. Don’t let her push you away.” Naomi gave him a quick pat on his shoulder, before turning around and walking out of the room. He stared at the door after she left, turning what she had said over inside his head.

He couldn’t focus on packing, or rather, he didn’t feel like it. So instead, he went over the hall into Olive’s room. She wasn’t there at the moment, as she was helping her father with something she hadn’t specified. He looked around the spacious room.

The walls were covered in art, probably self painted, and the two bookcases she had were filled with mostly cookbooks and art history books.There were also fantasy stories, copies of every movie she had been in, and a few books those movies were based on. On the ground was a normal blue rug covering some of the wooden floor, but there were also a few old newspapers folded in a corner. Alongside those newspapers was an easel, with paint splatters all over it. She had a white desk facing her two big windows, where she could’ve made homework or done landscape studies of what she saw. His guess was that she usually did the latter; he had never picked her as a studious kind of person.

She had a big bed for a kid, since he doubted her parents had bought her a new one just for the few times she visited a year. It had four posters that held up a thin sheet of white fabric, covering the bed from all sides so you couldn’t look in. Other than that, the room looked ordinary, without any really extravagant lamps or wallpapers that screamed how rich this family was. Something told him that was exactly how Olive had wanted it: down to earth and basic enough that she could fill it with her own personality.

“Hey you. Spying in my room?”

“Ah, just looking at how you grew up. Much bigger than how I had it.”

“Yeah, I only understood that not many people had it this nice when I went to college. It’s crazy, really.” She crossed the room to where he was standing and pulled him into a hug, for no discernible reason. He welcomed it and put his arms around her, propping his chin on top of her head. “So, honestly, did you like the movie?”

“I did, it was really well done. Nice story, it had good pacing. Overall, yeah, it was good.”

“That’s nice to hear. I’ll forward it to Viv next time I see her.” Olive sighed, her whole posture sinking slightly. “I really wish I could stay for the dinner tonight, I won’t get to see her say yes.”

“Hey, it’s going to be okay. She’ll probably call you directly after to tell you.”

“I know she will. It’d just be nice to see her in the moment.”

“I get that.” He held her tighter for a moment, before letting go and telling her he needed to pack the last of the stuff. She was apparently already done, even having fitted the two boxes of letters inside her suitcase.

“By the way, I got to keep the dress! That was apparently my birthday gift from my parents.”

“That beats mine by a mile.” She smiled at his comment, and gave him a wink.

“Never.”

Chapter Text

Something had definitely shifted in their dynamic after LA. Spencer didn’t want to dwell on it, seeing as they had more important matters at hand, but it definitely had. Their touches lingered, their eyes always sought for the other ones when they weren’t directly beside each other. It was hard not to notice, but if it was just a misunderstanding he didn’t want to press further. There was too much at stake.

Maybe when the whole case was over, when she was no longer in danger, he could ask her out. To make sure she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable with him close by during the time she needed a bodyguard, as though you could call him that. He just hung out with her and enjoyed her baking, sometimes buying groceries for her on days when letters came and she didn’t dare leave her apartment.

He was dragged out of his thoughts by JJ approaching his desk, asking if he had any new thoughts on Olive’s case.

“I do, actually.” He searched his desk for the specific letters he needed to show her.

“So, in this letter from 1995, he talks about Olive being “his next”. I also have a theory about what that means, but I’ll focus on the actual words written as of now. But in the letter from 1999 where he once again mentions the order he’s going by, he now says she was too young. And that there are only two left.”

“Okay..?”

“So, first of all, he changed his order. Next, this tells us he already knew that he needed to have six people. It’s like a compulsion, except, he can change the order. Which doesn’t make sense, seeing as if it’s a compulsion, he thinks that he absolutely has and needs to do it in a specific way. So this isn’t a typical compulsion; there’s something else motivating him to commit these crimes.”

“Okay, and what’s your theory on the specific crime? Is he stalking these other women too?”

“I'm not entirely sure, since he uses vague terms to describe what he’s doing, but I think he’s kidnapping them.” He swallowed the saliva that had gathered in his mouth before continuing, not liking the thought of what this entailed for Olive. “But based on other clues in his letters, it doesn’t seem like he keeps them for more than a few years. He only ever refers to having one at a time, never two or three. So I think that after kidnapping them, he keeps them for a few years, probably enacting some sort of ritual, and then kills them.”

“So in order to find him before he takes Olive, the quickest way would be to identify the other bodies?”

“Most likely.”

“An unidentified number of women, all unidentified, who could have disappeared from anywhere?”

“Yes.”

She sighed deeply, looking more worried than before. “That’s going to be a bitch.”

“Yes, but, if you look at the letters, he only ever talks about taking three. That’s a start, and, he hasn’t yet told Olive that she is yet again next. So we’re looking at maybe four more women.”

“It’s frustrating, since she’s obviously in danger, but this is too abstract even for us. I’ll try and talk to Hotch about it for you though.”

“Thank you JJ, you’re the best.”

“Yeah, I know.” She gave him a self assured smile and went to knock on Hotch’s door.

————

“Oh, another case already?” She had just been decorating some cupcakes in the cafe when Spencer called her. Currently balancing the phone between her shoulder and cheek, and holding onto the icing bag to try and finish the last cupcake she had to decorate, Olive did her best to both process the information and get a nice result without making a mess.

“Yeah, and it’s out in Oregon. We’ll only be gone for a couple of days, but, if it’d make you feel safer you can stay in my apartment. Or ask Penelope, you can probably stay at hers.”

“I’ll be fine, take care.”

“You too, love.”

“Awww-“ He hung up when he heard her overly sweet tone, indicating that she was mocking his word choice. He, of course, couldn’t see the blush that spread across her whole face at said word.

“Hey, are those done yet?”

“Riiiiiiiiight… now, yes. You can bring them out.”

“Thanks, it’s crazy out there.” Allison took the plate of cupcakes from her, bringing them out and trying to take care of the mass of customers.

The cafe had always been successful enough, but a few weeks ago it started becoming more popular. It could be because of a myriad of reasons, but it coincided a bit too well with an interview where Vivianne, trying to discuss her new movie, had made a throwaway comment about it being her “utmost favorite cafe” for unspecified reasons.

Nice as it was to know the business was thriving, the sudden increase in orders made for problems as they hadn’t been prepared. Olive had been thinking of hiring another barista, since she would inevitably go into hiding some day, and she wanted the business to be prepared for it. And with the new circumstances it seemed like the perfect timing: she would get more help now, when it was needed, and when the time came the cafe wouldn't have to rely on her.

Her phone rang again, and seeing as she was waiting around for the cinnamon buns to finish baking, she answered it and was met with Viv’s enthusiastic rambling.

“Did you know? Did you know?”

“About what?”

“About Anthony! Did. You. Know?”

“Jesus, yes, and, I can feel your stare from here. Calm down.”

“I will not, this is so exciting, I have to start planning-“

“Like you haven't already? You knew this was coming, you’ve always talked about marrying him.”

“Shut up, but yes. On both fronts. Oh my god I can hardly contain this I just, aaaaaaah, he proposed!” Olive laughed, checking the timer. Ten more minutes.

“What, noooo, really? I was under the impression that he just asked if you wanted sourdough or something.” Her voice was as monotone as could be, earning her a groan from Viv.

“Again, shut up.” It got quiet on Vivianne’s end, and right before Olive was going to ask if she was still here she talked again. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“About… Anthony proposing to you?”

“No, that your stalker resurfaced.”

“Oh.”

”Jag… mår du bra? Har något hänt än eller skickar han bara brev? Jag vill veta sånt här, det skrämmer mig att tänka vad som kanske kan hända.”

”Viv, jag lovar, jag mår bra. Inget har hänt. Jag ville inte oroa dig, därför har jag inte sagt något. BAU teamet tar hand om det.”

”Bäst för dem, jag tänker inte förlora en syster.” The answer made Olive laugh, bitter sweetly. She understood that not telling anyone had been hurtful, and it could’ve had serious repercussions if she were to go missing, but it had been hard to grapple with it alone. She didn’t want to worry everybody else as well. Least of all her sister, when she had much more important stuff to do.

“You won’t lose me, I promise. I have to get back to work, but I’ll call you afterwards, okay?”

“Yeah, love you. But also, I mean it, those FBI people have to be on their best behavior. Speaking of, Spencer-“

“NO, goodbye, talk to you later love you.” She hung up as quickly as she could, taking the buns out of the oven. When she looked at her phone again she noticed a message she received from Viv: reading “boooooooring >:(“

—————

She was home again, and had just gone over to Spencers since she left a batch of sugar cookies there and she was craving one. She had just closed the door and placed her replacement key on the counter when she heard footsteps in the hallway. Her paranoia kicked in when she heard the footsteps go past Spencer's door, all the way to hers and stop. There was a thump of something landing on the floor, not being delicately placed but rather just dropped unceremoniously to the ground.

Her heart stopped. She put down the cookie on the table, panicking at the thought of him actually being outside her door right now.

Did she lock the door? Did she lock Spencer’s door?

She was at first going to try and lock the door, if she hadn’t already, before realizing that it would bring attention to where she was. But if she went up to the door, she could look through the peephole and see him. Identify him, even.

But her body didn’t even consider it. Without thinking, her feet started carrying her further into the apartment, and she curled up into a fetal position behind the bed. Her breaths were shallow, and she patted herself down before realizing she had left her phone in her own apartment. She couldn’t even call for help.

She still hadn’t heard any footsteps leaving, so she waited behind the bed, waiting for the familiar sound of someone descending or even ascending the stairs. Anything that would distract him, make him leave before he tried to look inside her apartment.

She heard the apartment door open, and she couldn’t even blink. She laid down flat on the floor, afraid that if she was curled in a sitting position he might see her hair behind the bed. There was a step inside the apartment, a singular step, before… nothing.

She had left her cookie on the kitchen table.

He knew she was here, and the apartment wasn’t big, he was going to find her. She couldn’t hide anywhere else, she was stuck, forced to lay there on the floor without even the means to call Spencer, Viv, or even Penelope for help. Nothing.

“Olive?”

“Penelope?” She was struck with relief over hearing her voice, before the emotions and stress overcame her and she started crying.

“You… oh my god, Olive, I am SO sorry I should've told you I was coming! I was just dropping something off and- oh god, I’m so sorry.” Penelope found her curled up on the floor, unsure of how to comfort her.

“It’s fine, I promise, I just thought…” she began standing up, tears still streaming. Penelope pulled her into a tight hug, letting her cry into her pink shirt. Right now, it was the most comforting color she had ever seen.

“No, I get it, you thought I was the stalker. I wasn’t thinking-“

“Hey, it’s okay. But, could I stay at yours tonight?”

“Of course angel! Just take some things with you and we’ll be on our way.” Penelope pulled away, wiping her tears before helping her out of Spencer's bedroom. They packed a bag, remembering to lock both doors before heading out. Olive even remembered the cookies and took a few with her to Pen’s place.

After settling in at Penelope’s, she took a quick shower and sat on the couch that she would later be sleeping on. Pulling out her phone, she called Spencer, knowing he was probably off work now.

“Hey.” He heard her still shallow breaths, since she hadn’t fully calmed down after the whole ordeal. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I was getting something at your apartment when I mistook Penelope for the stalker. I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

“You- how did you mistake Penelope for the stalker?”

“She dropped something off at my door, and I was in your apartment so I just heard footsteps. I assumed, but I don’t really want to talk about that right now. Any fun facts you wanna share?”

“I… okay. You mean statistics, right, not something about the case? I’m assuming you’re tired of thinking about crime right now.”

“You know me too well.” He laughed, making her relax as he began to explain existentialism to her. She didn’t fully get it, seeing as she wasn’t a philosophy student or had ever really been interested in the topic before him, but it felt reassuring to listen. She did so for the full half hour until Penelope came back with sushi that she had ordered.

“Is that Spencer?”

“Yes, say hi-“

“Spencer, hi, you’ll get your girlfriend back this evening but right now I really need to talk to her. Good luck with the case also.”

“Wh-“ And with that, Penelope hung up, and before Olive was able to comment on what just happened she spoke again.

“I’m sorry for that but I really need someone to talk to about this.” It was Penelope’s turn to cry, pushing up her glasses to dry her tears.

“Okay. I’ll listen.” She brought out the cookies in an attempt to make her feel better, and it did earn her a smile from Pen. It was something, at least.

“Kevin might be breaking up with me.”

“What?!”

“Well he didn’t say it, but basically…”

The rest of the evening was spent discussing how Kevin was behaving, eating sushi, discussing her feelings for Spencer, eating cookies, and finally talking about her stalker. There had apparently been some developments, or more so theories, that they could investigate. It was reassuring, at least, that they weren’t completely stuck. Even when it felt like her life was put on hold.

Somehow, the conversation turned back to Kevin and his new job opportunity that he hadn’t discussed with Penelope.

“I mean it’s just shitty, really. He should have told you.”

“Right? Thank you! Like, I get it, but I’m his serious girlfriend. I was going to find out anyway, right?”

“Obviously.”

“But I do have a plan.”

“That sounds… it isn’t illegal, right?”

“Noooo, of course not! Silly of you to think that.” Penelope waved her off with a sardonic smirk. She knew the look very well and raised her eyebrows at it.

“So, it’s immoral?” 

“I mean…”

“Penelope!”

“But it HURTS. I want him to stay.”

“Look, I get that, but don’t force him. He should choose you. Don’t blow this opportunity for him.”

Penelope muttered something under her breath before looking up at Olive. After seeing Olive’s slightly judging stare, she sighed and nodded. “Yeah yeah, you’re right.”

“I know I am.”

“You know, for someone who is extremely single, you sure do give great advice on relationships.”

“All that wisdom… for nothing.” She did a dramatic hair flip, before pulling out her phone.

“You, know you could-“

“I will not hear you out, also, Spencer’s calling again.”

“You’re like, so codependent. Say hi to your boyfriend while I retreat to my room.”

“NOT MY BOYFRIEND!” She shouted, right before she picked up. Penelope was already out of the room. “Heyyo!”

“Hey. How are you feeling?”

“Not that different from two hours ago..?”

“Good, just wanted to double check.” She smiled so wide she was sure you could hear it through the phone, and they talked for a little bit longer before both going to bed.

When she got back home the next day, she did find a new letter as soon as she stepped inside. The relief of knowing she hadn’t been alone in her apartment when he dropped it off mixed with the anxiousness and nausea that he had, once again, been right where she stood made for a horrible combination.

So she was right back at Penelope’s that night.

Chapter Text

Olive slept over at his again. It was becoming more common than not, especially when he got back from a case. It was usually for his sake, since he told her it helped with his nightmares, but this last one was most definitely because she refused to let him out of her sight.

When he got home, she asked what the case was about, as always. But when he told her that he, himself, had found the antidote to the modified anthrax and by doing so exposed himself to said anthrax, she looked like she was on the verge of a panic attack. Quickly reassuring her that he was fine, there weren’t going to be any long lasting side effects and he wasn’t even that sick, barely helped; she wasn’t leaving his side for a long while.

So when the night came and it was evident she wasn’t leaving, not even to go back to her own apartment because god forbid, the team of professionals that had made extra sure he was going to be fine maybe missed something and he was going to die in the half second it took for her to go between apartments, he decided to dramatically sigh and say fine, you can stay.

She did make the quickest run known to man though, putting on her usual pajama pants and old oversized t-shirt to sleep in before coming back and putting on a movie. They cuddled on the sofa together, her leaning on his shoulder and occasionally snuggling closer whilst watching the tv. She had informed him that the movie, Mother Dearest, was a cult classic and sprouted fun facts about scenes every few seconds. He wasn’t too invested in it, the acting was a bit distracting at times, so he happily listened to her. Towards the end of the movie, she got tired and watched it together with him silently.

He noticed that her tracings on his arm that she usually did got less creative, going from imaginative patterns spanning his entire forearm to just being a small infinity symbol on his wrist. It was an indicator that she was getting tired, and sure enough, the second directly after he heard her yawning. Stretching slightly, to give her a heads up, before standing up and tugging on her arm.

“Jesus, stop being so dramatic. I’m coming, just… give me a minute. Like I told you, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“I won’t die because you’re looking at me, is that what you’re saying?”

“Exactly darling. Now, give me a minute to brush my teeth.”

“The optimal time to brush your teeth is actually two minutes.” He couldn’t help adding.

“I know. Det är ett talesätt, älskling.” She gave him a tired smile and kissed his cheek, moving towards the bathroom. He couldn’t help blushing as he stood there, before remembering he also needed to brush his teeth.

“Are you ever going to explain what it means when you talk in Swedish?”

“Are you ever going to learn Swedish?” She retaliated.

“I just might, if you won’t explain it to me.”

“I’m not going to do that regardless, so I guess it’s time to start studying, doctor.” She spit out the toothpaste. “I hear that’s a specialty of yours.”

—————

She awoke the next day, for once waking up earlier than him. He had curled his arms tightly around her during the night, holding her by the waist. There was dangerously little space between them - something she noticed even more when turning to face him.

Their face was only a few, maybe two, inches apart, and she could see every detail on his face. His hair was long and tousled, and she quietly brushed a few strands that had fallen across his face back, settling them behind his ear. He was even prettier asleep, something she barely got time to appreciate before he shuffled a bit and subsequently pulled her just a tiny bit closer. She was now even closer, her hands having landed on his chest to give them just the tiniest bit of space so their faces wouldn’t collide. It was, most certainly, not how she wanted their first kiss to go. Of course, she had imagined it many times by this point, but none of those dreams had involved him being unconscious. Okay, well, that wasn’t entirely true; one of them had been something extremely unlikely and akin to a reversed Sleeping Beauty or Snow White, but it wasn’t how she wanted it to go.

She got out of his grip as subtly as possible, making sure not to disturb him as he was still fast asleep before going into his kitchen. She was feeling hungry, and she had the perfect idea for what to make. 

When Spencer woke up around one hour later, he was confused at not finding Olive in his arms. He was accustomed to it and sometimes, it felt like the best part of his day; seeing her happy and safe, and him getting to hold her for just a few more minutes before going up and getting ready. But today, he instead found himself alone in his bed, and for a split second he felt overwhelming disappointment. Had she gone back to her place, already?

That was when he noticed something being off; namely, his apartment didn’t smell like old books. Instead, it smelled like American pancakes, and he went into the kitchen.

She stood there, blissfully unaware of his staring. She had brought over her radio from her apartment, and was humming along to the song they were currently playing whilst making pancakes. Her long blonde hair was pulled into a high ponytail that swung back and forth with every movement she made, highlighting that she was actually dancing slightly to the song as well. She hadn’t changed out of her pajamas, but she had retrieved a pair of bunny slippers she usually only had on at her own apartment.

She was honestly breathtaking, even more so now than when she had been in a beautiful dress, ready to go in LA. But he doubted that was because of what she was wearing; had she been standing in that dress here he probably would have ripped it off by this point. It was the location, the fact being that she was standing here, in his apartment, cooking pancakes on a Saturday. 

He finished his gaping before she would notice, and crossed the room to hug her from behind.

“Oh! Good morning.”

Romeo save me, I’ve been feeling so alone

I keep waiting for you, but you never come

Is this in my head? I don’t know what to think

“You’re making pancakes?”

“Yeah!”

He pulled out a ring, and said

Marry me Juliet, you’ll never have to be alone

I love you, and that’s all I really know

“Why? And also, how? I don’t have these ingredients, did you take them from you apartment?

“Firstly, I felt like it. Secondly, I might have put the needed ingredients in your cabinets a while back.”

I talked to your dad, go break out a white dress

“What? And again, why?”

“To see if you would notice! Which you didn’t, by the way, which is weird.” He was still hugging her from behind, and he wasn’t planning on letting go. She seemed fine enough with that.

It’s a love story, baby, just say

Yes

“Maybe that’s because whenever I eat or cook, it’s at your place?” She fell silent at that, taking a pancake out of the pan before smacking his hand with the spatula.

“I hate it when you’re right.”

“But I’m constantly right?”

“Yeah, but it’s fine then, when you’re right against ME is when I hate it.” He smiled, and pressed a kiss into her temple.

“I’ll set the table then.”

“Please do, I don’t know where your plates are.”

“How did you sneak in ingredients into my apartment, but miss where the plates are?!”

“Don’t judge the hand that feeds you. Especially not the one that makes you pancakes, dude.” She pointed the spatula at him, and he laughed as he set the table.

“That’s… not the correct saying.”

“You don’t say?” She was being sarcastic, but got distracted the next second. “Shit, I got flour on my slipper.” 

“Not the bunny!” 

“I know! What a tragedy.” She was back to smiling again, turning a pancake over in the pan. Spencer sat down at the table and just observed her, wishing that every morning was like this.

—————

“Okay, so it does seem like you aren’t dying, so maybe I should head home.” He looked up from the sudoku he was on the verge of solving, a puzzled look on his face.

“Oh, but… it’s just 1 pm?”

“Since when did you become a “it's just 1 pm” kind of person? The Spencer I know would think this is late for being in your pajamas.” She was sitting cross legged on his couch, head propped up in her hand. She was looking at him with an arched eyebrow, as if she was questioning if this was even really him.

“Since you started staying over.”

He decided to just rip the bandaid off, and tell her. Not outright, but implied. She was caught off guard by his blunt answer, and a blush rising on her cheeks.

This was it. Please let this be it.

“Okay, wow, but for your information I was going to pitch that we went to a few of your favorite book stores. A few, not all.” She pointed a finger at him and sat up straight, getting ready to leave.

“That does sound nice, but honestly I would also love just staying in. With you.” Olive stopped in her tracks and looked down onto him, where he was sitting. He stood up so she instead had to look up at his face, and he noted that they were particularly close, a few mere inches separating them.

She squinted her eyes, trying to humorously alleviate the tension building between them. “You never say no to going into your favorite book stores.”

“Well, maybe today is just a lazy kind of day. And I did almost die yesterday, so…”

“Good point.” She looked away, not wanting to risk locking eyes with him. “Well, how about I still change into clothes that I didn’t sleep in, and still come back?”

“But then I won’t see you for a few minutes.”

“Would that kill you?”

“Maybe.” He had moved slightly closer, almost closing the distance between them. She didn’t move away, instead, she finally looked at him again.

When she met his gaze, she slowly started to lean closer, unsure if that was what he wanted. He, in response, leaned down slightly, and softly placed his hands on her waist.

He could feel the butterflies in his stomach over the fact that she was only a centimeter away, and he was just about to close the distance to meet her lips with his-

A loud knock on his door disturbed the both of them, scaring a flushed Olive into taking a few steps away from him. She put her hand over her mouth, the mouth he almost kissed. He took a deep breath, stalling for just a moment, trying to see if the moment was over. When he concluded that it was, he went to answer the door.

“Hi, Spencer, I have a lead. I think.” It was Penelope knocking, looking extremely excited over what she had discovered.

“In… what case?”

“Olive’s, obviously. By the- oh, hi Olive! What are you- ooooh.” Realization dawned on Penelope’s face after seeing Olive, obviously flustered and Spencer’s look of slight annoyance. “Did I interrupt something..?”

“No! It’s fine, please tell us what you figured out.” Olive answered for them both, gesturing for Penelope to step into the apartment.

“Okay… sorry, okay, right, the lead. Well, I noted something in this letter from 2002. It’s nothing special, a bit sadder than the other ones, one of those letters where he just writes to write mostly, but then I saw the date. And then, I noticed that he had written a letter on that day every year. So, I ask you, what does the 24th of October mean to you?”

She looked at Olive, who just looked confused. “It means nothing? I don’t… recall anything happening on the 24th of October.”

“When did you start receiving the letters?”

“The first appeared on Halloween, 1991.”

“That’s exactly a week after.” Spencer said, furrowing his brows. “What do you think this means?”

“Here’s the thing; I don't really fully know. But I do know that he refers to the day as the last, or twelfth day, of happiness every year. So I looked into connections between the 12th of October and 24th, and get this, there is a connection. Now, it might be a long shot, but on the 12th October 1537, King Edward VI was born, and exactly twelve days later, on the 24th, Jane Seymour, his mother, died.” The room got quiet. Olive went pale and looked from Penelope to Spencer, realizing exactly what that meant.

“I played Jane Seymour in that one movie. And it premiered in September 1991.”

“A month before the letters started coming.” Spencer started pacing around the room, wondering how he missed that obvious fact. “That’s also why he doesn’t care about you birthday; he doesn’t care about you, he cares about the character you played.”

“But he calls me Greta, not Jane, in the letters?”

“Maybe he’s obsessed with you as an actor.” Olive nodded, and crossed the room to hug Penelope.

“Thank you, you’re the best.”

“Obviously I am, but it’s my job. Don’t have to thank me.”

“No, I will. And you-“ she turned toward Spencer, and was about to hug him as well when that suddenly felt… awkward. So she just did some finger guns and walked out, sprinting towards her own apartment.

Penelope turned toward him, looking supremely shocked. “What did you do before I got here?!?”

“I don’t- nothing special, I promise.”

Olive returned with a box of cookies that she handed to him, before giving him a chaste kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you, too. For everything that you’re doing.”

“It’s no big deal?”

“It is to me.”

—————

It was late that evening, and she sat alone in her apartment. It didn’t use to feel lonely, but it did this moment.

She kept thinking back to that moment before Penelope knocked on the door. It was something. It had to have been something. She refused to believe it wasn’t something.

But when Penelope had left, the moment was over. She went back to hers and changed clothes, laying in bed for a good few minutes just imagining what it would have felt like if they did actually kiss. They were so close. And the way he had looked at her, like he couldn’t, didn’t want to look away, it had consumed her entire being. She couldn’t stop thinking about it. She was thinking about it still, seven hours later. She was practically burning up on the inside, with unreleased butterflies in her stomach that refused to go away.

Her timer rang and she took the chocolate chip cookies out of the oven. She hadn’t been able to make food, only bake and scribble a few drawings in her rarely used sketchbook. It looked exactly how she felt; messy as fuck.

“It smells amazing in here.”

“Yeah, I put the turpentine away for once.” Spencer smiled at her joke, and held up two boxes of takeaway from their favorite restaurant. The butterflies fluttered in her chest as she saw it.

“It felt like you needed this today.”

“… why?”

“Because of the case?”

“Oh. Yeah, thanks.” As she was reminded of her stalker, the butterflies quickly subsided and were replaced with a different type of anxiousness. A much worse one.

“How are you feeling, by the way?” He leaned on the table, that he had just sat the bag down on. “With it all?”

“Bad that it’s happening, worse that it’s about a character I loved playing as a child, good that there’s development.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“Do you?” She sat down two plates on the table and looked at him.

“I think I do.”

She looked at the floor for a moment before she felt her eyes tearing up. Subsequently, her hands shot up to dry the tears before he would notice but it was pointless. He had already crossed the table to hold her in his arms, and she sobbed as quietly as she could. She couldn’t even hug him back, she was instead just curled up in his arms, sobbing.

“Hey, it’s okay. We will catch him.”

“I just want it to be over.” She sounded defeated, pathetic and small, but he didn’t judge her. He just held her tighter and smoothed down her hair, whispering reassuring words into her ear.

He didn’t leave that night, instead sleeping over at hers and comforting her in her sleep. And when he discovered a new letter on her doorstep, he quickly moved it to his apartment before she even woke up.

Chapter Text

Olive was yet again standing behind the counter at her bakery, taking orders and being a barista after weeks of either being in the kitchen or simply letting her employees handle themselves. But when Allison had called in sick, she took the fall and decided to take the shift for herself.

Thankfully, it wasn’t as busy as it had been just a few weeks ago, although there were still substantially more customers than before Viv had name dropped the cafe. That was both a good and a bad thing, she supposed, seeing as it made the cafe more successful. On the other hand, she didn't feel safe with all the people around, and it was scary seeing how paranoid she was becoming. She hated this feeling, feeling like and thinking she was being hunted every damn second.

“Hi, could I get a large black coffee?”

“Yeah, coming right up!”

She had been so lost in thought that she for a minute forgot she was actually working. She got the regular his order, looking at the clock and noticing it was around the time Penelope usually ordered.

Except that she didn’t come in, but she did get a message a few minutes later explaining that the case was really stressful so she couldn’t make it. That calmed her nerves a little; she wasn’t abandoned, they just had a really bad case. That was, apparently, in Canada, she was informed.

“Sorry to bother you again, but I forgot to order for my wife. Could I get a flat white?”

“Oh yeah, sure!”

“To go, by the way.”

“No problem sir.” She smiled at the man, who gave her a kind smile back and retreated so more customers could order. It was beginning to get busy again so she put her phone in her back pocket, cutting out the distraction it brought and continued taking orders.

The time went as slowly as it could, and when she finally finished her shift she went home to a quiet and lonely apartment. She locked the door and threw herself on the couch, deciding to eat leftovers instead of cooking. It felt as though she made any sound, gave anything that was a sign of life, someone was going to kick down her door and take her away. Her curtains were always closed nowadays, she had installed a new lock recently just in case the stalker had somehow gotten a key to her place, and she stopped everything she was doing as soon as she heard footsteps out in the hall. Everything made her on edge and she was praying for Spencer to get back soon enough because she hated the paranoia normally, but it was unbearable whenever he was away.

It hit her then, that the only times she felt safe was when she was in his arms. She probably wouldn’t feel protected even if she so slept at the FBI headquarters if he wasn’t there to hold her. It made her think back to that moment they had a few weeks ago now, a moment that they quickly swept under the rug in order to continue feeling comfortable around each other. But it was hard, knowing that she wanted to kiss him so fucking badly, and he seemed to have felt the same for at least a moment, and that they just couldn’t. At least, she couldn’t, out of fear that he would reject her for doing something so purely selfish, when she was being hunted by a stalker who could, most probably, kill anyone who got close to her.

She couldn’t risk him dying. She would sacrifice her own sanity and happiness for his safety, even if it meant him moving on to somebody else in the long run. And yet, she couldn’t stomach the thought of him not being there for her every moment of the day. She didn’t want to, but she needed him.

With that thought, she picked up her phone and gave him a call. She desperately needed to hear his voice.

—————

“How did you even get the leg injury anyway?”

“Just be glad I’m not dead.”

“What is that supposed to mean?!”

She was visiting Spencer in the hospital, bringing a box of brownies for him to eat whilst he recovered.

“I was shot in the leg.”

“You were shot? I… how-“

“It happened really fast, okay? Could I please, please, get a brownie?” He moved himself up in the hospital bed, wincing in pain from the small movement.

“Oh, yeah, of course hun. But, maybe, be a bit more careful, you seem to be in a lot of pain.”

“I’m fine, I promise.” She looked at him like he was dumb, but it was clearly out of concern.

“You were shot in the fucking leg.” She took a deep breath and handed him a brownie, sitting down beside his hospital bed. “You’re not ‘fine’.”

“These are really good.”

“Don’t try and change the subject?!” If he wasn’t already in pain she would have swatted his arm, but she used every bit of empathy she had left in her body to calm herself down instead. “But thank you, I made them yesterday.”

“So that’s what I smelled in the hallway.”

“Wait, you were home? For how long?”

“A few hours, then we got pulled away to this. Barely got any sleep.”

“Oh honey.” She felt truly bad for him again, concerned over his mental well-being. “When are they going to let you out?”

“Later today, I think.”

“I’ll make dinner then.” She gave him a forehead kiss, deliberately not looking at his face as she did so. She wasn’t about to kiss him for the first time in a hospital room.

He watched her as she left, waving goodbye when she walked out the door. He simply couldn’t take his eyes off of her after not having seen her for the past few days. It was sickening, how addicted he was to the sight of her.

—————

“Okay, hey, please stop squeezing me that tight.”

“Hmmfph?” Olive had slept over for the night, saying that she didn’t feel safe in her apartment as it approached the 24th of October. He could understand that; the stalker seemed to have cooled off slightly, leaving less messages, but she was still on edge at all times. Just a few days before, she had heard an unexpected noise from the hallway and stopped everything she was doing out of fear it was the stalker.

That had led to her meatballs being darker than normal, but it could’ve been worse, he reasoned. Still, she refused to go back to her own place, staying over more and more as the date neared. He didn’t complain, not one bit, and he had currently buried his nose in her hair as she laid beside him.

“Seriously, dude, you’re crushing me. I would like to have my ribs intact, thank you-“

“Sorry, but would you please lay still. I’m injured.”

“That’s a poor excuse and you know it. You’re almost capable of walking by now.” She protested, but still obliged, only moving her head to the side so she could look at him. “Also, lovely as it always is to lay in bed with you, I’m really feeling like painting today. It feels like a good day for it.”

“Mhm..”

“Which would entail you letting me go..?” She gently tried to get up, and he released her with a sigh, rolling onto his back. “Thank you, doctor.”

“If you don’t paint today, I’m suing.”

“You wouldn’t stand a chance in court.” She kissed his nose, hovering slightly over his face before retreating with a blush. He just watched her, his heart aching for more of her touch, trying to come up with a good retort to keep up the playful atmosphere.

“I’m suing for emotional distress.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize not hugging me for three more hours was that horrible to you. Next time, maybe.”

“I would love nothing more.” He murmured, making sure she wouldn’t hear the statement even though he desperately needed it to be said.

When he got injured, they got even more impossibly closer. And everyday, every and each day, did he try to get a new excuse to kiss her. Anything. But she was incredibly good at dodging his attempts before he even had the chance to fulfill his wishes; sometimes, it felt like she was actively sabotaging his plans and he thought that maybe he should stop trying.

But then, on days like this, he just knew. He knew she felt the same and was just being incredibly stubborn in trying to push him away, which she couldn’t do. Both, because he didn’t want her to, and because her mother had specifically warned him about this. So instead of wallowing in his feelings, he got up and grabbed his crutch that he used to walk at this point.

She had already left the apartment from the looks of it, and his suspicions were confirmed when he heard her door closing out in the hallway. He sat down on his couch and sighed, loudly. Not feeling up for breakfast, he made himself a cup of coffee and read a new book he and Olive had bought together a few days ago, that he hadn’t been able to pick up and read yet.

He got through a quarter of the book before his mind started wandering. Back to Olive, to her case, to the case they had just solved. There was a lot of stuff he was currently thinking about, but he tried to focus on Olive’s case, it was the easiest of the bunch to get lost in.

After the revelation about the stalker, now nicknamed Henry, being obsessed with Olive as Jane Seymour rather than Olive herself came, it was easy to figure out other pieces of the puzzle. For instance, the order he was counting down on, was probably him working through the other five wives of Henry the Eighth. This also made them theorize that the first wife was probably his actual wife leaving him, kickstarting the obsession. So theoretically, there were four other victims out there. The last one was probably not dead yet, seeing as Henry would have come for Olive by this point if that had been the case. So, they profiled this under the assumption that his fourth victim was still alive.

He had been on medical leave for a few weeks after the accident involving his leg, so he hadn’t been able to investigate too far, especially with all the other cases they always had. To add to that, he and Penelope were the ones doing most of the heavy lifting, seeing as the case wasn’t a priority yet since they couldn’t back up the theory of him killing four women with cold, hard proof.

He turned all the letters over in his head a few times, trying to come up with something new, but he got nothing. He hated not feeling focused, like he couldn’t do the one thing he was good at. So he returned to the book, and for the next hour, he was able to suppress every other thought he had and solely focus on the intricacies of the flower language and its history. Admittedly, this had been Olive’s find, and she had persuaded him to buy it since she remembered him talking about it one time. That, too, cemented the feeling of something happening between them; she remembered every and each one of his rambles.

His thoughts rushed, and he suddenly had an idea. Changing out of his sleepwear and into normal clothes, he was out the door in ten minutes, walking towards the nearest flower shop he knew of.

—————

Olive had opted for an acrylic painting today, since she didn’t feel like having a headache from the turpentine. She had been overwhelmed my emotions that morning when Spencer refused to let her go, and the autumn leaves outside of his window just solidified the wanting she felt in her chest. She had to get it out somehow, and she decided that the way to do that was paint. Drawing inspiration from Monet and some of Van Gogh's works, she opted for an impressionistic style with tiny paint strokes that would allow her to focus on her hands, rather than head.

It was fall colors, with a woman standing in the middle of a bright forest. She was simply looking up at the small rays of light that trickled down between the leaves, leaving a few miscellaneous spots on the ground that contrasted with the brown dirt. She was only about halfway done, needing to add details and what not, as well as make it messier to look at. One of the hallmarks of Impressionism was, after all, not always being able to deduce what you were looking at.

She had just about to start painting again after a short break when she heard a knock on her door.

“It’s Spencer!”

“Welcome in.” He opened the door with his key, and locked it when he came in. “You couldn’t stand not seeing me for a few hours?” She was still actively painting, not wanting to give up on it just yet.

“I got something for you.” She turned around at that, looking at him, her eyes slowly moving towards his arm that was hidden behind his body.

“What… why? What did you get me?” She stood up, and realized that she was currently dressed like the most stereotypical painter ever, in a pair of jean-overalls with paint splatter on them and a tight black shirt under, also littered with paint splatters. “So sorry for the mess by the way, should I change?”

“No, you look fine. It’s just a present.” She looked at him suspiciously, squinting her eyes and trying to figure out whatever the fuck he was hiding.

“Can I see it, maybe?”

“Oh, sure, right.”

“You can’t tell me you actually forgot you were holding it behind your body.” She snickered, but got quiet when she saw what he was holding up. “You got me flowers?”

“Seven red roses, to be exact.”

“But… why?” She was staring at the roses in his hand, taking them from him with watery eyes. “That’s so sweet. Thank you.”

“I just felt like it.” He had an unreadable expression on his face, and she thought he looked almost nervous.

“That’s- aw, Spencer!” She hugged him tightly, and he returned it as best he could, seeing as he was holding onto a crutch at the same time. “You… why? I mean, thank you,  but why?”

“Again, I just felt like it.” He was staring at her, a small smile playing on his lips.

“You didn’t have to, at all.” She stared at him for a second, but unable to hold his gaze she looked down to the flowers that she had now placed on the counter. The blush on her face was evident. He cleared his throat, looking over at her painting.

“Is this what you’ve done in just an hour?”

“What..? Oh, that, yeah. Do you like it?”

“It’s gorgeous.” He looked at it for a moment longer before looking back at her, still smiling. There was something left unsaid with how his eyes trailed over her face. You’re gorgeous, she thought, and her heart skipped a beat at his smile. It was just a simple smile, but it combined itself with everything his eyes revealed, and made it the most beautiful smile she had ever seen cross his face.

She grinned back, and she just knew she was blushing furiously at it all, but she didn’t care to hide it. And he just kept looking at her, like she was the most captivating painting he had ever seen.

She moved just closer to him, to hug him again, but she caught his eyes flickering from her eyes to her lips, for just the smallest moment. It filled her with a thousand butterflies again, making her move even closer. Instead of flinging her arms around his chest like she usually did, she instead gently put her hands around his neck, pulling him in. He licked his lips in anticipation, and wilfully bent down at the same time as she lifted her heels off the ground.

There were millimeters between them, and her gaze was fixed on his lips. She could feel his breath on hers, and for a moment, they just stood there, neither of them moving.

Chapter Text

She pulled him down, closing the last short distance between them. His breath hitched as he finally felt her lips against his, the soft touch feeling like a remedy to a disease. He was still holding his crutch, but it didn’t feel important anymore at that moment. So he dropped it, letting it unceremoniously fall to the floor as he used both of his hands to hold onto her hips.

It began with a gentle touch, but quickly turned into something slightly more confident, as she used one of her hands to cradle the side of his face and he pulled her body closer to his. She broke free for a second, to breathe, and he used the opportunity to do the same before leaning onto her kitchen counter, still holding her firmly in his arms.

“I knew you didn’t need that cane.”

“It’s not a cane.”

“That’s what you’re- out of all the things to say, you decide to point out I’m wrong?” She squinted her eyes at him, but her playful attitude didn’t last long once he kissed her again. It felt right, in every conceivable way, to have her this close; her hands having now moved down to his chest, his own holding her face and brushing away strands that fell out from behind her ears. 

He deepened the kiss slightly, and she welcomed it gladly, moving her hands again so that they were now in his hair. He almost felt as though this was it, like he had been waiting his whole life for this very moment. As though the two years of living beside each other had been slowly building up to it, and it was only going to be the start of it all. He could now kiss her anytime he felt like it; the barrier was broken.

She broke away again, smoothing down her hair and clothes before looking back at him leaned on her kitchen counter, and smiling. It was an unfortunate thing that the barrier had been broken; how he was to survive without having her in his arms every moment of every day, and every night, he had no idea.

She looked at him again, and started laughing.

“You have paint on your nose.” His self assured smirk was wiped off his face at the comment, and his eyes got wide.

“Huh?”

“Here, I’ll get it.” She wiped away a tiny amount of yellow paint that she had somehow swiped on the bridge of his nose. She leaned in for a quick kiss as well, not being able to stop herself, grinning once she pulled away.

“Ah, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Oh, and also…” she picked up the bouquet of roses he had given her not ten minutes before. “I know that seven red roses means ‘I want to be with you’. Only thing I know in flower language.” He let his jaw drop dramatically, and scoffed at her admission.

“Why didn’t you tell me that immediately?! This could have happened so much faster.” He said, with a laugh, showing that he wasn’t particularly mad at it.

“I don’t know, I liked the waiting game.” She placed the bouquet in a vase and carried it to the window. “That, and I wasn’t sure if you actually had feelings for me.”

He stared at her, slightly dumbfounded, and had to laugh again. “We have slept in the same bed more times than not this last year. I would like to imagine that that was a clue.”

“Touché.” She crossed the room again, landing herself in his arms. His cheeks turned bright pink as she leaned in closer and kissed him, yet again, and he pulled her in tighter in response. A giggle escaped her lips at the feeling of being so close to him. “So, my guess is that you’re staying over tonight as well?”

“That you even have to ask.”

—————

“I haven’t been able to get a hold of Olive for like, the whole weekend. Is there something going on?”

“Uhm, no, she just wasn’t feeling too well, she told me.” He was trying to sound unbothered by the question, but he was doing a terrible job at hiding the blush rising on his cheeks. Thankfully, Penelope was looking down at her phone at the moment, and didn't notice it.

Or at the very least, was wilfully ignoring it.

“Huh. Weird.”

“How so?”

“No, it’s just… wait a minute.” Penelope squinted her eyes at him, and dragged down the collar of his shirt by just a few centimeters. Fuck. “You have-“

“Penelope, don’t-“

“Is that what was happening the whole weekend? Oh she better tell me all the details when I call her later.” Spencer looked around the room, noticing that none of their coworkers had noticed the argument and dragged her to her own office, which was admittedly a hassle seeing as he was still walking on with crutches. He did manage it though, and closed the door behind him with a huff.

“Look, you can't tell anyone, okay?’

“Why not? Everyone already thinks you’re together!”

“Everyone?”

“Everyone on the team. Even Hotch has noticed your odd behavior.”

“I have not been acting odd-“

“Lovestruck, then. Look, I won't tell anyone, if that’s your wish.”

“Thank you.” He breathed a sigh of relief, seeing as both he and Olive had agreed to keep this to themselves for a while, until they figured out exactly what it was. Although it was also just an excuse to not let others in, to keep the bubble they had formed around themselves. Who knew it would pop after only a weekend.

“But the fact that you thought you were being even slightly sneaky? You barely covered the hickey, and please, ‘she wasn’t feeling too well’. Like she wouldn’t have tuberculosis and still tell you she was feeling fine and that you could totally come over?”

“I-“

“That’s the worst lie you’ve ever told me, hands down.”

“I think you’ve hammered in your point pretty well, Penelope.”

“I know I have but OH MY GOD. Really? Like this is for real?” Penelope’s face was now one of pure glee, her previously shocked expression replaced with a big smile.

He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his own features. “It is. And, fuck, it feels unreal.”

“Now, you can’t say ‘she’s not my girlfriend hurr durr’ anymore.” He laughed, both out of nervousness and out of pure joy at everything.

“That’s true. Oh no, what a sacrifice.” He was being sarcastic but it was hard to even joke about the situation when Penelope was looking at him as though the world finally made sense. Like this was as special to her as it was for him

“I’m so happy for you! C’mon, give me a hug.” She pulled him in, and he didn’t complain about it. “You sooo have to tell me how it happened, please.”

“Guys! Case!” JJ banged on the door, before swiftly leaving and telling the rest of the room outside the same thing.

“Okay, tell me after this case. Spare no romantic details.” She pointed at him before unlocking her door, pushing him out so he wouldn’t be late for the briefing. He was probably still blushing at it all, the whole situation, and his cheeks hurt from smiling too much.

—————

She was reading a book, alone in her apartment, when she heard his familiar footsteps outside of her door. There was a knock, and an announcement that this was, in fact, Spencer.

“Come in!”

He didn’t bring the usual Thai, which immediately worried her. To add to that, he looked defeated, more so than he usually did after a case.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“No, I- I just need time to process everything.” She assumed it was the case, seeing as he had been almost unreachable the past few days, for some reason this case being much more intense than the others. “It- you know my boss, Hotch?”

“Yeah, met him a few times, seems… nice?”

“His-“ Spencer choked up, walking toward the couch where she was sitting and swiftly sitting down. She turned toward him, concerned, and reached out for his hand. As though she was a lifeline, he took it without hesitation, earning him another concerned look. “His wife was killed by a serial killer we were hunting.”

It felt like a gut punch to hear. She knew superficial stuff about Hotch, like the fact that he had a young kid and was the boss, but he seemed genuine and likeable. 

“That’s… oh my god.”

“We all heard it over the intercom.” Spencer was blinking away his tears, trying to hide them from her.

“Oh, honey!” She pulled him into a tight hug, a comfort he needed badly. He seemed almost catatonic, apart from the fact that he was crying and desperately grasping onto her. “Is the kid okay?”

“Yeah, Jack’s fine. And Hotch- he killed George. The killer. He almost died himself. It’s-“

“That sounds awful on every level imaginable.” She was holding onto him, providing support in any way she could. She wanted to listen and help him work through the emotions he was feeling, but she didn’t know what he needed. She gave him a soft forehead kiss and dried his tears at least, trying to do something.

“I don’t…”

“We can just sit in silence. It’s fine.” He looked at her, thankful that she was understanding. They sat on her couch for a good few hours, only moving when absolutely needing to.

She brought cupcakes to the funeral, that the son really seemed to enjoy. He was only five, and didn’t seem to quite grasp that his mother was dead, making her tear up whenever he started talking about Haley. And when she got home, Spencer having been sent on a new case, and found another fucking letter, she broke down.

The thought of her own mortality, and how someone was actively out to harm her set more than it ever had, and she realized just how much she was in danger. There were no guaranteed happy endings. Not even with a son who loved you more than life itself, and most certainly not for her.

Chapter Text

“No, please, Allison-“

“I can’t be out there today! Please, just this once?”

“I… fine, sure.” She hadn’t told the employees exactly why she didn’t work at the counter anymore, and was only in the kitchen these days. She also didn’t want to worry them with such a heavy fact, so she was trusting the BAU with catching the stalker before she got kidnapped. Or killed.

“Thank you, you’re a lifesaver.”

“But don’t burn the cinnamon rolls this time, okay?”

“That happened once -“ Allison retorted, but after seeing Olive’s stern look she dropped the sarcasm and mumbled out a quiet “fine”.

“I know you’re good, I’m messing with you.”

“So then give me a raise.”

“Maybe.” She gave Allison a wink before putting on an apron.

“Wait, really?” Instead of answering, Olive just walked out from the kitchen to take care of the soon to be bustling counter. She was planning on giving Allison a raise, she just found it funny to not answer.

“Olive!” Penelope burst through the door with a big smile.

“Jesus, I just started my day.”

“Sorry, and also, I’m early, but I have to tell you something.”

“Can it wait until after work..?” She prepared the usual order, knowing that none of the team members were on a case right now.

“I mean, sure, but are you sure you’re not busy?” Penelope gave her a nice, but simultaneously critical look. Like she was unsure if Olive even knew herself

“How so?”

“Because you live next door with your boyfriend, that you hang out with 24/7? Did… you not realize that?”

Oh. “Well…”

“I’m gonna come here when you’re closing up, and then tell you. Fine?”

“Fine.” She handed Penelope the bag, waving at her as she walked out. Olive started cleaning the counter, not having anything better to do, until soon after when a man walked into the cafe. And Olive’s breath hitched in her chest, since she was sure she had seen him some time before.

And they were completely alone in the main room.

“Could I get a… black coffee?” His eyes scanned her from head to toe, something predatory in his eyes. He was in his late 40’s, at least.

“Yes, coming right up.” She didn't want to turn her back to him, but she had too. She had never trembled so much whilst making a simple coffee, and she was sure he noticed it. She tried to focus, make the order as fast as possible, so he would leave. So he wouldn’t have an excuse to stick around. “Is that all, sir?”

“Yes, I think so.”

Leave. Leave. Leave, please for the love of god leave.

“That’ll be 3.49.”

“Is it okay if I pay in cash?” Shit. Fuck. Fucking hell.

“Of course!” She smiled her customer service smile at him, stretching out her hand for the money. He handed her a five dollar bill, touching her hand far longer than he had to, before giving her a smug look.

“Keep the change.” He took the black coffee, which she had prepared in a takeaway cup, and sat down in a booth. A booth where he could look at her.

She wanted to physically recoil as he looked at her, but she didn’t let it show. Thankfully, another customer was in just a few minutes later. She wasn’t alone with the creepy man anymore.

—————

“Hey sweetums-“

“Oh thank god Pen, you won't believe the day I’ve had.” It was minutes before closing time, and it was only Olive left in the cafe. Stupid, maybe, but she didn’t want to keep the others’ there after their shifts ended and she still hadn’t told them about the stalker. She had been scared shitless at the thought of the man returning, even if he wasn’t the stalker. Something was just off about him and she, for once, trusted her gut instincts.

“Why? What happened?”

“Well, really, it was just a creepy guy that came in right after you left. But he felt really creepy, you know?”

“Oh no, that sounds bad.” Penelope made a concerned face, showing that she meant it. It did sound bad.

“And he paid in cash. ”

“Oh.” Penelope’s eyes widened at that. “That sounds really bad.”

“Right? Anyway, what were you going to tell me earlier?” She dismissed her own story with a wave of her hand, grabbing her keys to close up.

“Well, it just seems that Hotch is considering making the whole team investigate your case. Considering it, at least. It’s still hard seeing as we constantly have new cases and there’s still not a viable lead, but since there IS considerable proof that you’re in danger…” Penelope trailed off, looking at Olive who had just locked the door to the cafe. She was looking straight at Pen, eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed. Shocked and horrified at the same time.

“Considerable proof?”

“It’s… in one of the letters, he expressed extreme anger at you having moved again, since the last time was it for him. Once we read that, it was hard to deny that you are actually in some semblance of danger at all times.”

Olive stood there, quiet. She dropped the keys into her bag and began walking towards her apartment, dragging Penelope by her arm. She felt the stinging of red rimmed eyes, warning her that she was on the verge of crying. She just kept walking with Penelope by her side, making it to the apartment building soon enough.

“Thank you for telling me.”

“Honey-“

“Please, I… I really want to be alone right now.”

“No. I’m following you up, no matter what you want.” Penelope stood there, stubbornly, and after a sigh Olive relented. Opening the door, she let Penelope in as well, and made the trek up the flights of stairs. She didn't want to take the elevator right now, it felt trapping.

There was another letter by her door, and the panic attack was just a few seconds away. She unlocked the door, with Penelope right behind her, and threw her bag on the nearest surface she could find. Unfortunately, that was the floor, and she curled up right beside it a second later.

Penelope stayed in the doorframe, before opting to go instead of staying. She did knock on Spencer’s door before she left though, quickly explaining the situation to him. He was over just a minute later, still in his buttoned up shirt and vest. He hadn’t even changed into comfier pants.

He closed the door behind him as tentatively as he could, trying to not disturb her. She still lifted her head as she heard it closing, and looked up at him with red rimmed eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“That he was angry at me?” Her voice broke, and she sounded more fragile than ever. “I didn’t… what if…”

He finally understood what she was referencing, so he sat down beside her, pulling her in. She let him, sobbing into his shirt whilst still mostly curled into a ball.

“I’m sorry, we should have. We really should have. But… he hasn’t done anything yet, right? And now you know. It will be over soon.”

“But how soon? What if it isn’t soon enough? And… there’s a letter right outside the door right now -“

“Penelope took that.”

“But it was there. ” She sobbed harder, now holding onto him for dear life. “Why did it have to be me?”

“Technically, that’s part of what we’re trying to figure out. The trigger, the victimology, essentially why he chose you and why he did it at the moment he did.”

She looked up at him, incredulously, before laughing.

“What?!”

“Just… the dichotomy between me crying and you then actually explaining how you work… it got to me.” She smiled at him, still chuckling for herself. He was slightly confused, but smiled back, cautiously.

All seemed forgotten, even if just for a moment, and she kissed him there, both of them still sitting on the floor. He smiled into the kiss, since he still wasn’t totally used to it, even though they had been dating for about a month at this point. 29 days and three hours, to be more specific, but what did that matter. She was close and didn’t want to leave, that was all he really cared about.

“You know, I don’t really feel like cooking after today.”

“Yeah, me neither.” He still held her in his arms, but she wasn’t curled up anymore, instead sitting in his lap with her arms around his neck. He was currently absorbed in her features, taking in every detail of her. Even the red blemishes and bumps in her skin looked pretty, especially in the soft light that came from the windows. She hadn’t turned on the lights when she came in, and he hadn’t really had the chance once he saw her sobbing on the floor.

“What’s your suggestion, then?” She was looking right at him, her round brown eyes distracting him from answering coherently. It was extremely hard to focus on anything else other than her.

“I- uhm, one second, just…” She arched an eyebrow, seemingly unaware of the effect she had on him. Then she smirked and pulled him in again, dropping the act of obliviousness. He put his hands on her hips, shifting her position so that she was now straddling him. The kiss deepened, and he combed his fingers through her hair, making sure it stayed away from her bent down face.

“We’ll worry about dinner later, right?” She asked, breathless.

“Sounds good to me.” He looked at her smiling, flushed face, and the thoughts of the stalker were long gone. In this moment, nothing else existed other than her.

—————

The sound of his alarm woke her up. It, ironically, didn’t wake him, which she was frustrated at seeing as she was set to wake up whenever she wanted, since she took the day off. She had told Allison that yesterday, after ensuring her that yes, she was getting a salary increase.

“Babe.” She was currently facing him, although still tired. He wasn’t waking up. “Darling. Doctor? Spence?”

“Hmmpfh.” He stretched as he woke up, almost in a dog-like fashion. The comparison didn’t help as he opened her eyes, since the adoration you could see in them was almost reminiscent of a puppy. He smiled once he saw her, and pulled her into a hug.

“You have to get up.”

“I can also stay here.”

“Or you get up, and solve crimes? They need you over there.” She kissed his nose, pulling away from him but not leaving the bed. She was exhausted and no matter what, going to sleep more. He frowned and pulled her back, earning a chuckle from her.

“Olive…”

“Yes?”

“Why are you making me get up? I thought you loved me.” The phrase made her tense up. They hadn’t explicitly said it yet, although she was obviously very much in love with him. It was just something she hadn’t said to any boyfriend, ever, and she was scared to rush things.

“I- that feels unfair to spring on me. I can.. love you, and still make you get up.” He noticed her tension, and furrowed his brows. He did sit up though, which was an improvement.

“I would like to state that I, am in fact, in love with you.” He said it very matter of factly, like he was stating an obvious truth rather than a declaration of love.

It still shocked her. Deep inside her, she had a fear of no one ever being able to really love her. That she needed to perform, and give free cookies, for people to like or tolerate her. And here he was, telling her that he was in love with her, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You do?”

“I- yeah?” He looked confused at her reaction, which she must admit, probably looked rather weird from his perspective. She was teary eyed and blushing like crazy, if the heat on her cheeks was anything to go by.

“I love you too.” She said it tentatively, and as soon as the words left her mouth she seemed almost mortified at the admission. He just smiled at her, and bent down for a kiss.

“I know you do.”

They took a moment, just laying in bed and looking at each other. Before Olive was reminded of why they had even woken up.

“Seriously though, you need to get up. And I’m not going anywhere, I need sleep.”

He grinned at her, before actually getting up. “I’m going to let you get your beauty sleep then. I love you.”

She blushed even more, and he just walked out the room afterwards. “You can’t just say that so casually.” She feigned offense in her tone, although she was obviously just flustered.

“Watch me.” He said from the kitchen, putting on the coffee machine. She huffed and cocooned herself in the bed, a wide smile on her face.

Just as he was about to leave, he came into the bedroom once more to kiss her on the temple and whisper ‘I love you’ into her ear. She was asleep at that point, but it didn’t matter. He just liked stating it.

Around two hours later, Olive herself woke up again and made breakfast. The fluttery feeling she so often felt nowadays was refusing to subside, so after eating she made a new sketch on a canvas. She worked quickly during the day, almost making it to the halfway point of the painting before the inspiration left her.

She put away the paintbrush and spent the day embroidering a shirt that has gotten a few holes in it, finishing a few crossword puzzles and watching a movie. She wanted to go out, enjoy the nice weather, but she was deeply afraid of doing that at this point. Nothing felt normal anymore except for her relationships with the people around her, even though they were also affected by the stalker.

She was just about to call Viv, and ask what she was up to, when she heard footsteps in the hallway. The clock was only 3 pm, so it couldn’t be Spencer or Penelope. And then, the footsteps stopped outside her door.

She held her breath, not wanting to make even a sound. She remembered checking to see if the door was locked earlier, so he probably couldn’t get it. Did she show any signs of life? Was the lamp currently on, so he knew she was there?

The answer was thankfully no, so she just crawled as silently as she could down from the couch onto the floor. If he somehow, in some way, was able to see into her apartment, she didn’t want to be detected. She could feel her heart beating in her chest, the loud thumping almost feeling deafening. Could he hear it? Was he aware she was in here?

He dropped a letter through her letterbox, standing there for a moment longer before heading out. She could hear his footsteps descending the stairs, and it was first when she was sure that he had left the building that she managed to even sit up. After the panic came the tears, as always, and she quietly went to retrieve the letter. She had to know what it said. She picked it up with shaky hands and ripped it open, letting tears stain the paper.

Dear Greta,

You still don’t get it, do you? We’re meant to be. You are the love of my life and you always will be, no matter how hard you try to escape that fate. We were destined to cross paths, and you denying that fact isn’t healthy for you. Wake up to the truth.

I’m not sure how to explain this to you so you understand. But you will, one day. You will see exactly my vision, and our house will be your castle. There will be no pain, no misery, and you will fulfill your role. It’s the only way for this to work, don’t you see that? Are you so selfish that you will deny the world the greatest gift they would ever see? I’m doing this for humanity. I’m doing this for us. Don’t try to rewrite history. Because you will be in the history books you bury your nose into, and I’ll make sure they only say the good stuff. We will be buried next to each other, together for eternity after you’ve fulfilled your role.

 But as I’ve understood it, you don’t want that role. I can’t accept that. If someone is as perfect for it as you are, then why deny it? You’re an art form, yourself, nothing else needed. I will make you reach your full potential. Don’t deny that it would be exciting. You want it too, and I know that. You will accept everything with time. Everyone does.

Chapter Text

He went to the cafe again, sad to see that it was that other girl, Allison at the counter. Not letting it show though, he smiled at her, ordering a black coffee for him and a mocha latte for his wife. Her smile waivered a bit, going from the usually charming look to a customer service smile he was often less used to.

“Coming right up, sir.”

He waited, politely, trying his best to not look annoyed. She took her sweet time with the coffee, much slower than when Greta made them. He waited around for probably ten minutes, an abysmally long while for two simple cups of coffee.

When he took the coffee from her hands, she looked down, and furrowed her eyebrows. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. She looked up at him with a confused look, which he laughed off.

“My wedding ring is getting cleaned at the moment, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Oh! So sorry for noticing.” She smiled at him again, but with a dazzle in her eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“No problem.” He gave her the most show stopping smile he had, that he knew made women fall to their feet around him. It had happened before, many times. She blushed, affected by his charm, before returning to that blank customer service smile. A pity, really, she was quite pretty when she actually smiled.

But she wasn’t Greta.

He sat in his car and drove away, driving past her apartment complex. But he didn’t leave a letter this time, he hadn’t had the time to write it. And he wasn’t one to give half assed presents, like some of her friends did. Like that Dr Reid, who never bothered to get to know her real interests. Or that analyst, who practically used her for sweets, and her sister who was only ever interested in Greta when it was convenient for her. A shame, that she could have such great people in her life and yet, she was stuck with mediocrity.

He drove the hour home, dumping the coffee out the window as during the drive. He didn't like mocha lattes, and his so-called wife didn’t deserve it. She had been a disgrace since he first laid eyes on her, pretty, but without substance. Amazing violin player but otherwise, nothing more than a meat sack with eyes and a mouth. And, as though repeating history, he found her chatting up other guys at his party, that he held at his mansion. That was the day her fate was sealed; that was the day she was thrown in the tower, metaphorically. And soon, she was to be gone.

If only Greta would come to her senses soon enough.

—————

“Hey girllllll.”

“Hey Allison, how’s it going out there?”

Olive hadn’t been able to stay at home for too long, she got bored so insanely fast. Although the letters had stopped for a short period, which she was thankful for. She still wasn’t working at the counter, seeing as the last time she did so she had the creepiest interaction she had ever had.

“It’s going so well, and… god, there’s this hot guy that comes in every other day, orders the same thing and leaves. And today, he came in today, and ordered a coffee for his wife as well. ” Olive had been listening intently, and her jaw dropped at the last sentence.

“Nooo!”

“Yes! It’s so unfortunate, like he’s way too old for me, but still he’s so cute. But weirdly enough, he wasn’t wearing a ring.” Allison raised her eyebrows, to punctuate the weirdness, and but Olive stopped kneading the dough she had in her hands at the mention.

“Hey, how old was this guy again?”

“Like, late 40’s, early 50’s maybe? And he has this thick brown hair, with a few gray streaks in it, a really full beard as well. And he’s jacked . Like he looks like a hot dad.”

“Is he tall?”

“Yes, how did you know… oh! Have you noticed him too? But I thought-“ Allison rambled before seeing her face, which looked as though it was drained of all color. “Are you okay?”

“Did… he order a black coffee?”

“Yes…”

“Did he, by any chance, pay in cash?”

“He always does. Seriously, Olivia, what’s…”

She had a deer in the headlights look on her face, as the realization dawned. This guy was a regular. Of course he was. Of course her stalker would be a regular at her cafe, because not a single page of her life could be left untouched by this man.

“Uhm, I didn’t want to tell you. But there’s a guy, who has been stalking me on and off for years, and that… might be him. I got an extremely weird vibe from him a while ago and I just…” She let the confession hang in the air for a while, looking at Allison’s shocked face. “There’s a chance that it isn’t him, obviously, but… I don’t know anymore, I’m so insanely paranoid.”

“Oh, god… this isn’t like, a fucked up prank, right?”

“I wish it was. There’s a whole FBI investigation.”

“Oh my god.” Allison was stunned, obviously unsure how she was supposed to react to it all. “Is that why you never work at the counter anymore?”

“Yeah. And, I should have mentioned it, if something is to happen in the future. But I don’t, didn’t, want to bother you. And the investigation is going swimmingly, from what I know, so I thought it might resolve itself.”

“Yeah, I- uhm, are you okay?”

“Not mentally, no.” She tried to laugh off the tension, but it only earned her a worried look from Allison.

“Maybe you should go home..”

“No, really, I’m fine. And excruciatingly bored from being home too much.” She tried to sound as reassuring as possible, steering away from the topic at hand. It had gone on for far too long, in her opinion, especially since she had never planned to reveal it to her employees.

“Okay, sure…” She still seemed apprehensive, so Olive just sighed and patted her on the back.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. And please, return to the counter.”

“Oh, right, yeah I’ll- I’ll go do that.” Allison hesitated before going back out, but she seemed to be able to handle the next few customers that came in, thankfully.

The whole day felt weird afterwards, and when Olive took off home earlier than expected and left Clara, the newest employee, to close up, it became clear that she had either overheard the conversation or been told by Alison since she seemed particularly empathetic and understanding. Olive just nodded politely at her almost exaggerated niceness and went home, noting the lack of letters by her door.

She locked the door behind her as she came in, looking around her apartment. Something felt wrong. Before she had been able to process what, she got a call from Spencer. She picked it up, still not moving away from the door.

“Hi darling?”

“Hi! We just got a new case, and I wanted to warn you that I got you something and placed it in your apartment this morning. So when you see it, you know that it’s from me.”

“Oh thank god, I just came home and something felt off about the apartment. Did you move something around when you were here?”

She heard his chuckle at the other end of the line. “I just put away the turpentine.”

Oh. “Thanks darling, didn’t… even realize it was out.”

“It smells so bad, how don’t you notice that?”

“I’m sorry, I'm just used to it! But okay, thank you, what did you get me?”

“You’ll have to find that out for yourself. I have to go now, bye, love you.”

“Bye bye-“

The line cut off, and she put her phone back in her pocket. Taking a deep breath, and double checking that she locked the door, she went into the kitchen to search for whatever it was that he got her.

Unfortunately it wasn’t in the kitchen, and she spent the next half hour searching. As she looked through her living room for the third time, she swore under her breath and was starting to feel rather annoyed. Because who hides a gift, instead of just leaving it out in the open?

That’s when she looked at the windowsill and noticed it. He had replaced the red roses he got her a few months back, that day in November. They had wilted a long time ago, but she still kept them, and had basically refused to throw them away after he begged her to just get rid of them, saying that they weren’t that special. She disagreed; they were very special to her. For obvious reasons, which made it more baffling to her that he didn’t consider them special.

And he had replaced them. With seven new red roses, propped up in the vase he had seemingly also cleaned. She felt emotional, on the verge of tears, and the only thing she could do was text him “they’re gorgeous, love you!”

It wasn’t nearly enough to let the emotions out. She wanted to scream at how thoughtful it was, to kiss him, to tell anyone that would listen to her ramblings about how much she loved him and how much this meant to her. But she didn’t have that at the moment.

So instead, she propped up a new canvas on the easel, and began painting the source of her emotions. The deep red, almost burgundy color of the roses made a beautiful contrast to the blue sky outside her window.

—————

He got home late from New Mexico, but that didn’t stop him from knocking on her door. It swung open immediately, and she practically threw herself in his arms.

“You’re the sweetest, best, most wonderful boyfriend ever-“ She kissed him before even finishing her sentence, simultaneously dragging him into the apartment.

“I take it you liked the roses?”

“Liked them? I love them!” She peppering his face with kisses, on his cheeks, on his forehead and on his lips. He could barely get a word in between each kiss and just laughed instead, happy that she liked them. He wasn’t sure of it at first, seeing as she was so attached to the first bouquet he got her, but he also knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t be too offended if he replaced them.

He broke away from her kisses, just locking the door behind him before pulling her in again. He took a moment to admire her, smiling up at him, lipstick slightly smudged and eyes shining. It was hard to look away, and she must have noticed it, seeing as a blush spread across her face before she put her hands around his neck again, making him lean down.

He cradled her face, holding her hair so it wouldn’t be caught between their lips. She smelled like strawberries and vanilla, like she had bathed in something equally as sweet as her personality. His hands withdrew from her face and instead hugged her waist, pulling her flush against him, wanting to know nothing but her.

She smiled into their kiss, and propped herself up on her tiptoes so he wouldn’t have to bend his neck as much. She let go of his neck to press her hands against his chest, separating their bodies with a few centimeters. That’s when she pulled away, still smiling, and took his hand instead.

“I have to show you something.”

Like a lovesick puppy, he followed her, until he saw what she wanted to show him. It was a painting, as it often was when she wanted to show something, but this… it blew him away.

It was the roses he got her, on her windowsill, with a clear blue sky outside her window. It showed the walls around the window as well, giving the whole piece a feeling of simplicity, almost serenity. It was simple, you could argue, with the flowers being the obvious motif and everything else being background and foreground. But the painting meant something else; she had immortalized their relationship, and their want for each other with it. He didn’t often get emotional when looking at art, but the messaging behind the painting did make him feel like he would tear up.

“What do you think?” She asked him, obviously excited.

“It’s- beautiful, really. No other word to describe it.” She put her head on his shoulder.

“Yeah, I was thinking of selling it at the cafe.”

“What?” He turned his head at that, a bit offended, but noticed her grin and knew she was joking with him.

“Of course I’m not going to sell it. I’m giving it to you.” She kissed his cheek before walking to a cabinet, where he knew she kept various frames. She pulled one out to this canvas’ measurements and went to put the painting in. “It’s acrylic, so it is already dry. Don’t panic.”

“I’m not. I’m just slightly overwhelmed, maybe, that you’re giving it to me?”

“Well, why wouldn’t I?” She finished putting the painting into the frame and handed it to him. “I made it with you in mind, for you. I want you to have it.”

He must’ve looked flabbergasted, because she laughed at his expression and put the painting into his hands.

“Don’t be so shocked, obviously I was thinking of you when I painted it.”

“This is just… Olive, thank you. So much.” He was still staring at the painting, which was smaller than it looked, and would probably fit anywhere in his apartment. She was still standing in front of him, smiling widely.

“No need to thank me, darling. Now, would you like a late night snack? Because I’m starving.” She crossed him to go into the kitchen, pulling out bread, cheese and a pan.

“Yeah, that sounds nice.” He put the painting on the sofa, joining her in the kitchen. He didn’t do anything, really, but he wanted to be close to her and hear her humming along to the song on the radio.

Don’t you want to come with me?

Don’t you want to feel my bones

On your bones?

It’s only natural

A cinematic vision

Ensued

Like the holiest dream

Is someone calling?

And angel whispers my name

But the message relayed is the same

“Wait ‘til tomorrow you’ll be fine”

Chapter Text

It was her 28th birthday, and he woke up long before her. The plan was to give her her gift, maybe for once make breakfast (or at least, try) and just spend the day inside. But he didn’t move for the first half hour he was awake, seeing as she lay perfectly still in his arms, peaceful as ever. She had turned around sometime in the middle of the night, his big t-shirt that she preferred sleeping in bunched up at her waist as a result.

He spent that first half hour just looking at her, brushing away tendrils of hair that occasionally fell across her face. He was as gentle as he could when he did so, not wanting to wake her up, so he mostly let his eyes trail over her face and the features he so dearly loved.

He kissed her forehead, planning to get up and make an attempt at breakfast, and prayed that it wouldn’t disturb her. Thankfully, she just smiled a bit, remaining faithfully asleep as he got up.

The breakfast included banana pancakes and a raspberry smoothie, along with two pain au chocolat he had to pick up from her bakery. Maybe that was a bit of a cop-out, to not make them himself, but he was sure she would much prefer eating something that wasn’t store bought or burnt to a crisp.

He had just gotten back in time with the pain au chocolats when she woke up, looking way too surprised at the breakfast he had prepared.

“Happy birthday darling.” He gave her a quick side hug before returning to preparing the breakfast, having decided to wait with the smoothie until she woke up. She still looked rather groggy, and yawned before seemingly remembering that she was now 28.

“Oh right! Fuck, I forgot my own birthday.” She rubbed her eyes and blinked rapidly before settling in her chair. “You made pancakes?”

“Yeah, I think they turned out fine. I’m just about to turn on the mixer, one second-“

The loud whirring had him scared for a second, jumping back at the sudden noise that he assumed would be slightly less noisy. She laughed at his reaction, although he could barely hear it, and was still laughing once he brought the smoothie over to pour in their glasses.

“You can stop now, please.”

“Sorry, just, ohh my god …” She didn’t stop though, her own, now high pitched voice, making her laugh again. He just stood there, pitcher in hand, staring at her a bit disappointedly. She eventually managed to take a few deep breaths and calmed herself down, but she still chuckled every now and then.

“It wasn’t even that funny…”

“It kinda was though.” She looked at him with pure glee, but shifted her focus to the breakfast, thankfully. “This does look really good though. Thank you.”

“And thank you for admitting that.” He joked, but really just anticipating her reaction to how it all tasted. She noticed his staring, and gingerly picked up her fork, trying to not giggle as she took her first bite of pancake.

She ate it, and looked absolutely disgusted. But only for a split second, returning to a somewhat normal and pleasant face afterwards, although her nostrils were flared in an overblown manner.

“Is it that bad?” He was legitimately worried, that he somehow fucked up the only thing he had to cook. 

“No, god, I was joking! It tastes amazing Spence, I promise.” She had returned to normal, although she looked a bit guilty as well. To prove her point she took another bite and gave him a thumbs up. It was his turn to laugh, the relief over not sucking at cooking washing over him after being worried for maybe thirty seconds about his abilities.

“I’m sorry, fuck-“

“No, it’s fine! Well played.” She smiled at him, still looking guilty. “Theater kid.” He said just loud enough for her to hear, but her only reaction was suspiciously squinting her eyes at him.

The rest of the breakfast went by uneventfully, thankfully she actually enjoyed what he had made. She also got to open the few presents he had gotten her, including a pair of simple gold earrings, in the shape of a rose hanging by its stem, as well as some new paints since she mentioned she was running out. The last thing he got her was tickets to a movie she wanted to see. He had tried to find more she would like, but he also knew she cared more about the quality rather than quantity of gifts so he settled for those three. She seemed happy though, so he breathed a sigh of relief.

She took out her current earrings and put the roses in, and she looked so adorably happy, with a smile so wide it must have hurt in her cheeks afterward. She looked in the mirror for a hot minute, just examining them, before returning to him on the couch, slumping down beside him and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“I love you, so much.” She emphasized on the ‘so’, looking him deep in the eyes to really drive the point home. He couldn’t look away from her eyes, that were the color of dark chocolate or a black coffee. Like the leather binding on a really old book, or the dirt you planted flowers in. The sun hit them at that second, revealing an amber color that he got lost in. Eyes so deep he swore he could see his future in them.

“Spence?”

“Sorry. Zoned out for a second.” He blinked a few times, returning to reality instead of inside his own head. He smiled at her, his girlfriend , who was in his arms, with earrings he had just bought her in her ears. “I love you too.”

“You better.” She smiled up at him, and slowly leaned into him until their noses touched.

He closed the distance between their lips, and he could feel the remnants of her smile in their kiss.

—————

May 19th, 2010

She was on the phone with Penelope, talking about what to wear to the cinema tonight. Spencer had promised that they would be back from the latest case in time, and he had apparently just gotten off the plane and was heading home, according to Pen.

“Based on what you’ve told me, go with the black cocktail dress.”

“Really? Why?”

“Because black can’t go wrong, AND you sound the most excited when talking about it. Also I searched it up and it’s gorgeous, I might just buy one for myself.”

“Do it, we’ll match!”

“So it’s decided then! Wear the black dress. Are you planning on wearing heels?”

“Of course Penny. What do you think of me.”

“I’ve seen you in heels once, maybe twice. Nonetheless, good. And you’ll be bringing a sweater?”

Olive sighed. “Yes, mom, I will. Now, w-“

There was a knock on her door, and a shout from Spencer that he was coming in. The door unlocked and she didn’t even get the chance to greet him before he went to the shower.

“That’s Spencer. But, hey, how’s Kevin doing?”

“It’s going swimmingly love, I can assure you. Now, can I ask you a question?”

“… sure?” She hesitated, not knowing what to expect.

“You’ve had zero contact after the stalker? None, nada, not even him coming back to the cafe?”

“Not that I know off, no. Allison hasn’t told me anything, anyway. And I barely work the front desk anymore.”

“Okay, I just had to double check. With your track record, you never know.”

“Hey! I told you everything… eventually.”

“Yeah, yeah. Have a good evening, cupcake.”

“You too, Pen.” It was sad to end the otherwise nice phone call on a somber note, but it happens. Olive sighed and tossed the phone on her bed, taking out the decided dress from her wardrobe.

It was cocktail length, skintight, with a square neckline. If it hadn’t been for the formal feeling of the evening she probably would have worn a flannel over it, but decided on a normal gray sweater instead. She was just putting on some makeup when Spencer excited the shower.

“How are you already in normal clothes? Aren’t you still like, soaking wet?” She looked up from the mirror to face him, getting a welcome-back kiss on her temple. “That’s not an answer.”

“I dried myself off.”

“Yeah, but your hair always drips-“ she cut herself off, noticing something. She squinted with her eyes, before opening them in slight shock. “You cut your hair?”

“Yeah.” He laughed, dragging his hands through the shorter haircut. “Do you like it? Hotch wondered if I’d joined a boyband.”

She just stared at him, not even focusing on the makeup anymore. “When, uhm… wh- huh.” She couldn’t even formulate the right words that she wanted to use. “Yeah, yeah it.. it looks really good.”

It dried fast, seeing as he was only out the shower for ten minutes and it already looked good. She could not stop staring as he did various things when getting ready, like changing into another shirt, or spraying the tiniest bit of cologne on his wrists. It was mesmerising.

Obviously, she found him attractive before. But the haircut did something to her. He did look like he was in a boy band, Hotch was right. He finally noticed her staring, seeing as it had been very blatant, and crossed the room, towards her.

It felt like when your crush smiled at you in fifth grade. She felt absolutely giddy when he sat down beside her, face slightly angled up, with that puppy eyed expression he was too good at making. She was blushing, at the fact that her boyfriend was looking at her. That he, at all, was her boyfriend. It still didn’t feel real.

“Do you need help with something? Darling?” He asked, feigning ignorance over what made her act so out of character.

“No, I’m fine.” Her voice was slightly high pitched, showing that not even she herself believed that. He smiled, and reached out his hand to gently caress her face. 

Her breath hitched as he leaned in, and his hand on her cheek brought her own face closer to his. When their lips finally met, she reached her own hands behind his head and curled her fingers in his hair, trying her best not to devour him.

He stood up slowly, taking her with him, so that he could move down his arms from her face to her waist, pulling her ever so slightly closer.

“Shouldn’t this wait until after the movie?” She asked as she pulled away, breathless.

“Shit, you’re right.” He quickly looked at his handwatch, checking the time before kissing her forehead and moving away. She didn’t actually want that, but he would still be here afterwards, and the movie was imminent. She applied lipstick, silently thanking a higher power that she hadn’t applied it 5 minutes ago and promptly messed it up, before fluffing up her hair and deciding that she was ready.

She came into the living room, meeting the already done Spencer and heading towards his car. They were going to go to a restaurant, then the movies, and then home. Where she could flirt as unabashedly as she wanted to.

It was actually really manipulative of him to cut his hair of and look that attractive, it simply wasn’t fair.

Chapter Text

The dinner, that Spencer insisted on paying for since it was his treat, went by quickly. Then again, she drank two glasses of wine, so time was going to feel faster nonetheless, even if she spent it with the most boring person on earth.

Fortunately, she got to spend an entire dinner absorbed by the image of Spencer talking about various subjects, where as soon as he was done with one he remembered another and brought that up after. It was almost like every other evening, except that they were at a fancy restaurant with people glancing at them from time to time. For what reason, she didn’t know, and didn’t care either. She was happy just listening to him.

They took the car to the cinema, even though it was only a few blocks away. Spencer didn’t drink during the evening for that specific reason, so her tipsiness made him laugh at times. It felt natural, easy, happy. Like the world was just the two of them without any dangers lurking right behind them. It felt how she imagined everyone else felt in their relationships day to day.

—————

No. No. Absolutely not.

She was not going to the cinema, on a date, with him. That’s not how this works. That’s not what’s supposed to happen. She had already fled once, no, actually, twice, and now she was moving on?

How dare she. Was she stupid? Mean? Arrogant? Didn’t she realize that their end was the only one that was allowed. She was the love of his life, the one to bear him an heir, and here she was like some… some whore. Was she like everyone else?

Was she like all the other whores he had killed over the years?

And here he was, letter in hand, just waiting until midnight so he could drop it off. And she was swinging about in the town, kissing other men in their car? Did their love mean nothing to her?

He couldn’t accept this. Wouldn’t accept this. This wouldn’t happen on his watch. Absolutely the fuck not.

So he waited.

—————

It was hard to focus on the movie with him next to her, especially since he just looked so good. And he would sometimes whisper, as quietly as he could, references the movie made to other movies, and literature, and history and art and-

Long story short, she didn’t want to focus. She wanted to be home and watching a movie instead, so he could say everything as loudly as he wanted because he knew she would listen to every word he said. She wanted to still be dressed up and maybe go out to dinner, but still come home early so they could cuddle on the couch instead of sitting in two separate seats with hundreds of strangers around them.

But she settled for holding his hand throughout the movie, that seemed quite good when she was actually looking, and letting her index finger trace delicate patterns on his palm.

He whispered something about the importance of a specific frame and the art that it referenced, and she could swear he had never looked as beautiful. Everything about him just made her act soft and weird, like she didn’t care about societal obligations the moment he looked in her direction.

It was pure, love drunk bliss, and she almost hated herself for being so wrapped around his finger.

Almost.

—————

They were on the way home, and he tried not to tailgate them. It was hard, but he instead opted to just park his car facing their building so he could see them arriving.

The moment they did, he saw red.

They parked, and got out of the car. And there, right in front of everyone, they kissed. Before they even got inside the door.

He probably forced her into this. He must have. There was no way Greta, his Greta, was standing there and making out with a man much below her level, willingly. No, she wouldn’t do that. There was simply no other explanation than her being forced to do this.

She wouldn’t do this to him.

This had to be corrected. He wasn’t going to let this stand. He was going to show her what a real man was.

And he was going to kill that son of a bitch.

—————

Even as they walked up the stairs, Spencer couldn’t stop talking about different aspects of the movie. It warmed her heart how happy he was, and she was beginning to think going to the cinema was more of a present for him than it was for her. She didn’t mind though, she couldn’t mind, when everything she thought about was feeling him close again. She had barely taken her eyes off of him since they left the movie salon, half an hour ago. She would have counted it as a problem, an addiction, if it didn’t make him as happy as it did.

He barely got to lock the door before she threw herself at him. She has never felt as much want and need, lust, for someone as she did with him. It wasn’t even purely sexual, it was emotional, romantic, even platonic. She just needed his undivided attention for now, and as she felt his hands snake around her waist and begin pulling her sweater over her head, she knew she had it.

If only these moments could last forever.

—————

At around 1 am, he saw the lights flicker off in her apartment. He took his chance.

Opening the front door with his copied key was easy enough, he had done it dozens of times before. He walked up the stairs as quietly as he could, seeing as they had just gone to sleep and waking them up would mean more trouble than the so-called “doctor” was worth.

He got to their floor, and inserted a key he never used into the lock. It opened the door, and he rolled his eyes at the guy's stupidity. He hadn’t changed his locks since he lost his keys a year and a half ago.

What a fucking moron.

As he expected, the inhabitant wasn’t here. He was in Greta’s room, satisfied after using her body for his own enjoyment.

He was never going to treat her like that. She was damaged goods now, sure, but she was still royalty in his eyes. He would treat her as such. If she provided him pleasure, of course. If not, she didn’t deserve it. If not, she was just like all the other whores.

But she wasn’t. She couldn’t be. She wasn’t allowed to be.

He locked the door after himself, not wanting to risk one of them noticing it was open. ”Doctor” Reid was an FBI agent, after all, which would make him a bit less moronic when faced with something out of place.

And now, it was another waiting game. He hid in a closet with the door slightly opened, where he was out of sight from whoever opened the front door, but he would see the person who entered.

It was time for him to finally reunite with the love of his life. It was finally time to take back what was rightfully his.

—————

May 20th, 2010

It was 8 am when Olive woke up, noticing that Spencer was still fast asleep. She smiled at his peaceful face, and stayed there for a while longer. Until she felt the urge to pee, at which point she kissed his forehead gently and got up, out of his embrace.

After a quick visit to the bathroom, she felt the need to make a big breakfast. Sorting through her fridge, freezer and cabinets, she slowly realized she couldn’t find the flour she bought just a few weeks ago. And she was not going to go buy more at this time, she didn’t have the energy.

She thought back, mulling over it, before she remembered she left it at Spencer’s a few days ago. She breathed a sigh of relief, quickly changing into a pair of sweatpants and crop top. She didn’t want to run into the neighbors in just a slept-in t-shirt that barely covered anything below her hips, that’d make for an incredibly awkward conversation.

She grabbed her extra keys to his apartment and went over the hall, unlocking the door and stepping in. She left the door open, seeing as she would return in just a few minutes once she found the flour. Making her way to the kitchen, turning on the radio and quietly singing along to a song that was playing. Background music tended to drown out the paranoid voice in the back of her head, that always told her she was being watched and whatnot. She was just getting flour, in Spencer’s apartment, she was as safe as she could be.

She was looking around in the cabinet, grabbing the flour just as she heard the door shut. Her first thought was that it was Spencer, but whoever it was didn’t say anything, so she looked over.

A man, sporting an intense smile and wielding a knife, stood at the door. He was holding the door shut with his free hand, and even though he was smiling the rage in his eyes was palpable.

She couldn’t move a muscle, her whole body locking itself in place. He slowly made his way towards her, dragging the knife’s tip along the kitchen counter to make a horrific noise.

Her instincts told her to run, her mind told her to fight, but her body was frozen in fear as he edged closer.

Too late, she realized that if she just screamed, Spencer would have heard.

Chapter Text

Spencer woke up and noticed she wasn’t in his arms. It made him pout, jokingly, as though she could see him even though she wasn’t in the room. But he was still in a good mood, even though she wasn’t there, so he went into the living room.

“Olive? Love?” He saw a mixing bowl in the kitchen, and assumed she was just gone for a moment. But when he looked in the bowl, he noticed there weren’t any ingredients in it, even though she had placed some on the kitchen counter. He furrowed his brows, not wanting to assume the worst, but feeling the paranoia kicking in.

“Olivia? Are you here?” No response. He grabbed the front door handle, noticing it was unlocked. Fuck.

He rushed outside, and saw the door to his apartment. It was wide open. He ran back inside, fumbling with the buttons on his phone as he picked it up, calling Garcia. She answered surprisingly fast for it being 10 am on a Sunday.

“Spencer, why are-“

“Olive’s gone.”

“What? She isn’t in your apartment?”

“She’s in neither mine nor hers, and my door is wide open. I locked it yesterday.”

“No, no, nononono, fuck, okay, I’ll… I’ll call Hotch, he’ll contact the rest of the team, you can… uh, stay there. Do everything you usually do with crime scenes.”

“Thank you.” His hands were shaking, as he double checked his apartment. It was empty, the only thing out of place being a tossed bag of flour.

There were two sets of footprints in the white powder.

—————

Her head hurt like crazy, so much so that she didn’t want to get up or open her eyes. She squinted, anticipating light that usually shone through her windows, and the warm embrace of Spencer. She got neither.

At the realization, she sat up, too fast for her head. She gasped in pain, trying to observe the room she was in. It was dark, and cold, with a humidity that made her think of being underground. The muffled sounds of footsteps above her head told her that was probably accurate. She was in a basement.

The panic set in, as she remembered what had happened that morning. If it even was the same day, she couldn’t be entirely sure. She thrashed around, feeling a pain in her ankles as she did so and noticed the chains around them. Her hands grasped the cold floor, feeling the rugged stone underneath her. She was still in her sweatpants, thankfully.

With her head still throbbing in pain, she yet again closed her eyes, and she heard a door opening to the basement. The loud footsteps told her just who it was, but the sound of something being thrown to the ground alerted her. It had a metallic sound to it, and it was light, not settling directly on the ground.

She opened her eyes, slowly, as though that would shield her from what was to come. He had thrown her a gold ring, that would most probably fit right onto her ring finger.

Olive looked up at the captor, who was still standing at the top of the stairs, where he had thrown the ring from. She didn’t dare to move, couldn’t even if she wanted to, since she had chains on her ankles. And he continued staring at her, a smile on his lips. It would have been charming if not for his eyes, which showed no emotion. Not even rage. Not even lust, or excitement.

Just pure nothingness.

—————

He had put on some regular clothes, and had gotten orders to get to headquarters as soon as possible. Derek and Emily was going to look over the crime scene, everyone else would start with the profile. Because of his work during the last year, he was the best candidate for building it. He rushed to the office, not caring that he looked a bit of a mess with his shirt untucked and pants not ironed.

“Hi, I’m here.”

“Spence…” JJ looked at him with sympathetic eyes, trying to console him. He normally liked the gesture, but right now he was too stressed.

“Not now, we have to- let’s focus on the profile.”

“Okay. What do we know?”

“So. The letters started in October of 1991,  a month after the movie “The Wives” release. In it, Olive played Jane Seymour. Penelope figured out that he sent a letter every 24th of October, and every year he didn’t send letters, he wrote one and called it “the twelfth day of grief.” Now, this correlates with Jane Seymour’s death and the birth of a son on the 12th of october. From there-“ he wrote everything as fast as he could on the board, not meeting the other four’s glances. He had to focus on this.

He had to.

“- we came to the conclusion that he views Olive as Jane Seymour. But the crux is that he only ever refers to her in the letters as “Greta”, her stage name from when she acted in the movie. With this, we drew the conclusion that he sees her as an actress, not as the actual surrogate for Seymour.” He took a deep breath, looking at the others to see if they were with him. Then, Penelope started adding.

“Spencer knows the letters better than I do, but we also noticed that he has a list that he wanted to go through. A list of women, most likely a sort of hit list. Except, when he couldn’t get Olive, he changed the order so she wasn’t third any longer.”

“Now, this is a long shot, but I believe that this UnSub sees himself not as Henry the Eighth, but rather identifies with him on a deep personal level. And once he hit the age where Henry started deteriorating, as in when he got a leg injury, went from a popular, attractive king to a tyrannical overlord, he started seeing himself as above Henry. He works hard to remain physically fit, he’s charming, and most importantly, he moved Olive to be the last wife because he sees her as his happy ending. The love of his life, which is what Jane Seymour was to Henry VIII.”

“Why’s that?”

“If you look at the letters, in multiple ones he writes about “men that have come before me”, “greater men” and how these men failed. In one, he quite literally says “I won’t make his mistakes. I won’t repeat history.” He is separating himself from these men, although it probably is only Henry VIII, so he isn’t under the impression that he is the same as him. He wants to be better, and not fail. Which means-“ He stopped his rambling for just a second, realizing two things simultaneously. “He is either going to impregnate Olive until he gets multiple sons, since he won’t take a chance with just one. And…”

“Spence, you look… pale. Sit down.” He did as JJ said, taking a deep breath as he started tracing patterns on his arm for comfort. She laid her hand on his shoulder, grounding him slightly as he came to a revelation he should have thought of long before it came to this. How could he have forgotten?

“Today is the twentieth. The twentieth of May is the day Jane Seymour and Henry the Eighth got engaged.”

The room was dead silent. It felt as though none of them dared to breathe. JJ kept her hand on his shoulder, almost holding onto it tighter, as it to reassure him it wasn’t his fault. But it was, wasn’t it?

Penelope finally broke the silence. “He was going to leave a letter.” Her voice was shaky, as though she was on the verge of crying. Because the letters had stopped, for just a few months. And that led to them letting their guard down.

—————

It felt as though she hadn’t slept in days, although she attributed that to her head injury. The memory of how the kidnapping happened was still hazy, and all that she could remember was seeing him at the door, hand holding it close.

“Who are you?” A raspy voice came from the darkness, making Olive turn abruptly. She shouldn’t have, and she sucked in air through clamped teeth when her vision flashed white for a second. The headache came from the back of her head, and that was all she could register.

“I’m… Olive.”

“Okay, and who are you playing?” She squinted her eyes, trying to see who the voice came from. It sounded feminine, despite the raspiness.

“I… don’t understand.”

“He talks to you first about which one of the six wives you resemble. Don’t you remember that?” The voice sounded irritated, as though she should know this. “At least, that’s what he did with me. Then he talked about the other women before me.”

“Shouldn’t you know, then? Who I’m playing?” She tried to sound gentle, but it was hard, especially after the other woman sighed, exasperated.

“I’m too tired. We don’t get any food when we’re down here. Also, put on the goddamn ring. He treats you better then.”

“I- okay. I think I’m playing Jane Seymour. And.., you?”

“Katherine Howard. Now, please, be quiet. I’m going to sleep.”

“With him up there?!?” She whispered the sentence into the darkness, but her eyes were getting used to the dimmed lightning and she could make out the silhouette of a very thin woman on the floor, ten meters away from herself.

“Yes. Now hush.” The woman curled up and her breath evened out, signifying that she was falling asleep.

Olive looked around the dark basement. There was stone flooring, and wooden walls. There was nothing soft for them to lay on, no rug, no blanket. She tried to make out smaller details, and noted that on Katherine’s side of the room were musical instruments. On her side, she found nothing. It was barren of anything, except for the small ring.

She crawled towards it, taking Katherine’s words into account, and put it on. She would rather play by his rules and maybe survive, than be defiant and die. Her thoughts came back to Viv, her parents, and Spencer. Had he noticed the was gone yet? He must have.

Had he called her family yet? Were they still going about their day, without knowing she was being held captive? Or were they crying their eyes out, because it wasn’t sure if they would ever get to see her again?

Would she ever be able to tell them she loved them again?

She heard his footsteps above her head, and they were surely heading towards the basement. She could feel it in her bones.

Except he didn’t come into the basement. The footsteps disappeared, and it seemed that he was gone. No longer inside the house.

He didn’t come back for another four hours.

—————

“Okay, so if he was going to just leave another letter, why the escalation?” Rossi asked, glancing between Hotch and Spencer. He swallowed the bile in his throat before answering.

“We went out last night, and if he was waiting outside the door, he would have seen us together. That would have been a stressor?”

“And yet, you didn't see him. So if that’s true, he was in a car.”

“Are there any security cameras outside of your apartment building?” Hotch asked, with an intense look in his eyes.

“No, we asked if they could install some but the landlord never did. But the cinema probably has some, so we should look at those.”

“Garcia, would you get on that? And check all nearby cameras in the area, there should be some. Try and match cars from the cinema to ones leaving the scene this morning.”

“On it, sir.”

“This is now an active investigation.” Hotch nodded toward Spencer before leaving to make a phone call, probably to Strauss. Rossi stayed in the room, looking confused.

“But why break into your apartment, not hers? How did he know she was going to walk through the door, not you?”

“He… wouldn’t be able to know that. It is much more likely that I would have walked into my apartment, which means…”

“He probably didn’t mean to kidnap her. He was planning on harming you.” Rossi looked more concerned, but the realization didn’t mean anything to Spencer at the moment. And that piece of information meant something else, too.

“And he was at first only going to deliver a letter. This wasn’t planned. He must’ve left traces behind at the scene. I’m going to-“

“You’re not going anywhere, kid. Morgan and Prentiss are at the scene, they can take care of it. We need you here.”

Spencer glared at Rossi, but knew that he was correct. He took a deep breath, steadying himself and trying to not think about what was actively happening to Olive right now.

“You need to go down to the bakery she runs, The Romantic Cafe, and ask for Allison. Olive told me about a guy giving her a creepy feeling, and apparently Allison has served him many times. She could be a witness.”

“On it, kid.” Rossi gave him a pat on the shoulder before walking out, telling Hotch where he was going and why. Now, it was only him and JJ left in the room.

“We will find her, Spence.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we will. I hope it’s in time.” He finally accepted her hug, and it grounded him, made him think clearly again. They let go, and he saw tears in her eyes. “We just need to focus. I’ll get the letters and analyze patterns.”

“I’ll help you.”

—————

“Hey, Olive?” Katherine had been sitting up for a while, not talking, just staring into nothingness. She was frail and thin, her arms slumped and almost looking like bones in the dim light from the singular weak lamp that was always turned on. Her hands, though, were elegant and unnaturally controlled, as though that was the only part of her body she regularly used.

“Yes..?”

“What year is it?” She was moving her fingers to a rhythm Olive couldn’t hear, as though she was playing piano.

“It’s May, 2010. How… how long have you been here?”

The other woman was quiet for a moment. Olive swallowed, and glanced at the other woman, who had stopped the rhythmic movement of her fingers.

“Since 2007. July 2007.”

“Oh, you- oh my god… hasn’t anybody searched for you?”

“I don’t think so. We were together before this, you know? I liked him. I know he’s too old for me, but I didn’t care then. He’s rich and was handsome, but then… one day, he just switched. I don’t have anyone left anymore.” The woman looked defeated, and had a thousand yard stare as she talked. Suddenly, she turned towards Olive, with an intensity in her eyes. “Did he do the same to you?”

“No, he… he stalked me for years, from when I was a child. Then he stopped for a long while, and then… then he found me again.” She looked to the floor, not being able to meet at the woman’s gaze. “I… I have friends in the FBI, they’ll try to find me.”

Silence. And then, laughter. Katherine was laughing, and laughing, even had tears in her eyes by the end. And Olive just couldn’t understand what was so funny.

“I’m sorry, it’s just… it’s so ironic. He is meticulous, really. In everything he does. He knows that this is legally wrong, but he justifies it perfectly in his head. And he covers his tracks, manipulates, destroys you from the inside out… and yet, you, the one he has idolized and put on a pedestal as ‘the only good one’, will be his downfall.” The woman cackled.

“He’s talked about me?” Olive’s eyes widened, because for some reason she assumed he would at least have the decency to not bring her up when keeping these other women captive.

“Way too much, honestly. And I’m sorry, but you don’t live up to my expectations. Not that I ever thought I’d meet you…” she snickered a little, and Olive joined in, before the tone turned back to somber. The woman was choked up, and seemed to dry tears from her face. “If it’s true, that they’re searching for you. Please, take me with you. I miss my family.”

“I will. Of course I will. What’s your name?”

“Nina. Nina Brendon.” 

“That’s a really pretty name.”

“Thanks, it’s actually my stage name. My birth name is Nina Pavlenski-Brendon.” Nina gave her a small and hesitant smile, finding some solace even in their crappy situation. “You know, I haven’t talked to anyone else but him during these three years.”

“That’s- I’m sorry, stage name?” Olive looked at Nina through furrowed brows, who didn’t seem to think this was a big admission.

“Yeah, I was a pianist before all this. Oh, and small time actress.”

Chapter Text

May 22nd

He was coming down the stairs again. It was most likely the second day, but she couldn't be sure. The knot in her stomach twisted with every step he took, every loud noise that came from those robust wooden stairs.

If she had been fed, she would have puked it up by now. Her whole body was trembling as he reached the bottom of the stairs, looking at her and only her. Nina, who was sleeping on the floor, he didn't seem to care for. It felt nauseating, being his sole focus.

It was, in fact, the man who she got the horrendous feeling from a few months before. To know that her gut had been right wasn’t exactly a comforting thought, and she instead felt like curling into herself and disappearing. She had never been good at handling stress, and she was currently shaking from the trauma of everything over the last day.

“Don’t be scared, beloved. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re perfect, and… you put on the ring.” He took her left hand in his, delicately, as though he was scared of hurting her. Hypocritical.

“I- I did.”

“Good girl.” He caressed her hair, staring straight into her eyes as he gently touched the sore spot in the back of her head. He hovered over it, waiting for a reaction, and she withdrew slightly. He only smiled, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes by a mile, and tugged on her arm to make her stand up.

She did so, looking at him confusedly when he switched out her chains for another pair that instead held her feet together rather than chain her to the wall. He wasn’t afraid she would run away or attack him, seeing as he was jacked for a fifty year old and taller than her by a few inches. She was also weak after not eating, so they both knew she didn’t have a chance of running away from him.

He put his arms under her and carried her up the stairs, bridal style. He held her firmly, almost as though he needed to show just how strong he was. The muscles weren’t enough of a show, she needed to really understand that he could crush her like a bug if he wanted to. He opened the basement door, locking as soon as they got out of there. She was feeling a bit dizzy and didn’t quite understand where he was taking her, or why. All that she knew was that she couldn’t do anything, out of fear for her life.

He carried her up two more flights of stairs, until they were on what must’ve been the third floor. She looked around, noticing that the room they were now in was much more luxurious than the basement. She even had a tiny window in one of the walls. He put her down, chaining her to the wall again before showing her around her new room.

She had a four poster bed, nicer than the one she owned at home with beautiful and intricate spreadsheets. A fur rug covered a big portion of the wooden floor, which looked to be mahogany. There was a bookcase, filled with everything except books: canvases, paint brushes and paints, and colorful yarn lined up on the different shelves. She even spotted an easel near the window, and it being devoid of paint splatter made her think he bought it just for her.

“This is yours. Don’t be afraid to ask for food, or more paint, or different needles for your embroideries. Everything you want, you get. Okay, beloved?” He cradled her face as she sat there on the floor, chained to the wall. “I need to buy you underwear, but as soon as I get back you’ll change into what’s on the bed, okay?”

He was still grabbing her face, possessively, and she could almost feel the bruises forming on her jaw. He didn’t let go and looked deep into her eyes, leaning in for a kiss before stopping himself. He sighed and let go, rising to his full height and smoothing down his suit. Before he locked the door, she felt his eyes on her, looking her up and down. Objectifying her. He slammed the door shut, and she could hear him locking multiple locks.

She staggered to her feet, trying her best not to cry. There was a vanity filled with makeup and perfume next to her bed, her exact perfume, but the makeup was a few shades off. It was also more contemporary than what she usually bought; she liked the aesthetic of 90’s makeup, whilst these were products you could see on celebrities nowadays. It felt deliberate, that he chose something she didn’t usually wear when he so clearly knew what scent she smelled like.

She went up to the small window, hoping to see something, but she could only see rows and rows of trees. Not a house in sight. Nowhere to run. She sat down on the bed, disturbing the perfectly laid out expensive dress that he had placed there for her. In the distance, she could hear his car starting and rolling away again. He still hadn’t fed her anything.

Nor had he fed Nina, for that matter.

—————

His phone rang, and he sighed when he saw the number. He didn’t want to deliver the terrible news of them barely getting anywhere.

“Hi, Vivianne.”

“Have you found anything new? Anything? How are you, how’s- please tell me you’ve made some progress. Anything.” She was desperate, and sounded like she had been crying just before she called. He couldn’t blame her.

“We’re closer to finding her, yes. But-“

“But?”

“Not nearly as close as we should be.”

“But, you’ve made progress?”

“Some.”

He heard her take a deep breath, but it was shaky. And when she spoke again, she was definitely crying.

“Will you find her alive?”

“Yes. And I’m not just saying that, we will find her alive. That much, we can promise.”

“Okay. Okay. Just- call me, when you find her? Please?”

“Of course. I-“ He saw Derek and Emily walking in, after their last look around his apartment. “My coworkers are back from the scene, I’ll call you as soon as we find something.”

“Thanks. Take care.” She hung up before he could say the same, and he just stared at his phone for a second. The grief she must feel, he couldn’t even comprehend, and he tried his best not to.

“What did you find?” He was unusually short with them, with everyone on the team really, but they gave him the benefit of the doubt. He couldn’t sleep at home, since that was now a crime scene, and he didn’t want to even if it was an option. The next time he went inside that apartment building, he was going to be holding Olive’s hand or he wasn’t going inside. End of story.

“We could identify the shoe print in the flour, so we have that at least. But, uhm…” Emily staggered, looking at Derek with an apprehensive look. He saw it and sighed, placing his hands on his hips.

“There’s a knife missing from your kitchen.”

Spencer’s heart stopped for a moment, and he could hear his own pulse in his ears.

“But no blood?”

“None.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t been harmed, in that way at least.

“Did Garcia identify a vehicle yet?”

“She did! A black Rolls Royce Phantom, but she couldn’t make out the licensing plate.”

“That’s a really expensive car. We’re dealing with a man who has money.” 

“It’s a starting point. But we also have to find the other five women, four of them should be missing. The first one was probably his wife who left him right around the time the letters started.”

“So we’re looking for a wealthy man, with an obsession with Henry the Eighth, who got divorced around 1991?”

“Who also has a dead brother, he mentions that in a few letters. And Allison is working with a sketch artist right now, so we will also have a composite sketch of him too.”

“Okay. Good.” Emily nodded as she talked, going over something in her head. “Hey, did you notice anything else with the letters?”

“I don’t know, honestly. It gives us a timeline, roughly, of when he kidnaps the other women. It seems that there was a murder in 1995, probably Anne Boleyn, then I. 1997 he started mentioning another woman. That ends in 1999, and we can assume this is Katherine Parr, since he switched Seymour and Parr in the order. Then, another woman in 2001, who he stopped mentioning 2005. That’s Anne of Cleves. He still hasn’t mentioned the Katherine Howard substitute, but it’s safe to assume he has kidnapped her. He wouldn’t fuck up the order like that.”

“But he already has..?”

“Yes, but, he switched Seymour and Parr. That rhyme, that goes ‘divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived’? That’s the format he’s sticking to — there has to be a divorce, then-“ his eyes widened. “He’s beheading them.”

“What?”

“He’s beheading these women when he kills them. That has to be it.” He rushed to Garcia’s room, Emily and Derek in tow. He almost slammed the door open before calming himself down slightly and striding inside, as sensibly as he could.

“Garcia, how many headless corpses have been found in the US since 1995?”

“That’s a… horrible metric. Also, calm down, you’re breathing down my neck…” A long list of names appeared on screen. “Too many. Yuck. Why?”

“That’s how he’s killing the women. He’s beheading them.” It felt good to realise something so vital, something tangible.

“Oh god, that is not good. Do you have a geological profile so I can narrow it down?”

“No, not yet.”

“Goddamn it. Okay, I can cross reference these with people who own Rolls Royce Phantoms and live nearby. And… nope, still too many. Damn, there are a lot of suburban communities here. Creepy.”

“Okay, back to the drawing board. We’re gonna find something.” Derek assured him. “Good work, baby girl.”

“Thank you, angel cakes.” She blew them all a kiss before returning to work. Spencer just felt defeated. There was finally something, something that would ultimately lead them closer to the stalker, but it led nowhere.

Olive was still alone, in that house, with him. And they had nothing.

When the day ended, Spencer stayed behind. He couldn’t stop reading the letters, couldn’t stop analyzing every word that was used. Something had to reveal who this guy was, where he was, what he was doing.

The investigation hit a bump. For days, none of them found something that was useful in revealing the identity of the stalker. And every day he grew more desperate, to find the guy, to maybe be able to call Vivianne and tell her that they had something and they were getting Olive back. But everyday, his phone just felt heavier, and even looking at Vivianne’s number made him anxious. It felt horrible, to not be able to give her any good news. To not be able to even tell her anything.

And he was longing for the physical touch, that he was so used to now. On the daily, for months, he had gotten Olive’s kisses and her hugs, her tracings on his arms and her braids in his hair. It had always felt like a drug, and now he was feeling the withdrawal from it. He should know; the situation did remind him of his own withdrawal years back, with the exhaustion and temptation to just go back take the easy way out. But there was no easy way. He has to power through.

He started sleeping in the office, taking up an unoccupied room in the back. Going back to the apartments, her apartment, alone, felt impossible. He could sacrifice sleep and comfort for the desperation that would bring.

He read through them, the letters, time and time again, and the days just kept going by. That was, until his eyes landed on a detail. Nine days into the investigation, nine days since she disappeared, and he found the most obvious thing. Something so obvious, he should have recognized it right away. He once again rushed to Penelope’s room, not caring for etiquette as he begged her to cross check 15 year old boys who died on the 2nd of April, before 1970, in a rich family.

There was one who stuck out. One, and only one, where the boy had a 10 year old brother. He scoured over every piece of information Garcia's computer gave him, and he couldn’t help the laugh that erupted. The relief he felt was overwhelming.

They got him.

—————

25th May

She sat on the bed, in her fancy dress that didn’t fit her properly. It was too tight everywhere, the bodice felt suffocating, she could barely move her legs, and the skirt was really, really short. He was looking over her, practically salivating at the sight. It was a horrid feeling, and she swallowed the bile she wanted to spit on him, keeping her head high as he got closer. It was hard to keep her smile plastered on, but she tried, she really really tried. She didn’t want him to get violent.

Her ankles were still chained to the wall, and any movement she made would set him off. She had learned that, over the course of the days she had been here. He was a control freak, and anything that ruined his fantasy had consequences.

She sported a black eye and bruised rib from the first few days, although the swelling had gone down substantially. So much so that she could cover it with makeup and it wouldn’t be noticeable. He edged even closer, starting to softly touch her on her hands. When she responded by smiling just a little bit wider, the most enthusiastic smile she could give, he acted as though it had been the most brazen show of affection he had ever gotten. Even though it was more hesitant than she had ever looked when looking at, say, Spencer. 

She missed him, badly. Her body ached for his gentle, non possessive touch on her face. Or her sister's warm hugs. Every moment she was alone, her thoughts wandered between him, Viv, and her parents. She cried as quietly as she could at night over the fact that she may not get to see them again. She had to believe that she would, but it got harder, each day that went by.

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?”

She swallowed more bile, as she was dragged out of her depressing thoughts. “You too.”

He smiled, in a manner he probably thought off as charming, but it came of as both cocky and downright creepy. His soft touches turned rough, as he climbed over her body and held her down to the bed with enough force to leave bruises on her arms. She couldn’t hide the disgust and fear on her face anymore. He was close, too close, his face centimeters away with lips pouted. And he inched closer, face almost touching hers whilst she was pressing herself deep into the soft mattress, trying to escape it.

But eventually, he held back. She still didn’t know why he held back, but he was playing by an arbitrary set of rules he didn’t care to explain to her. So he just did, and left her pushed deep into the mattress, her whole body clamped up in fear.

As he backed away, still looking at her, she tried her best to sit up straight. She couldn’t help but gently knead the sore spots on her arms where he had held her down. He saw the gesture, looking between it and her face. His own expression spoke of a deep anger. Fury, even.

“Are you accusing me of being violent?” He spat out, and she stopped massaging her arms.

“No, of course not, I-“

“Yes you are. You fucking whore, that’s not even what I call rough. You’re trying to start a fight with me, aren’t you?” He raised his hand, nostrils flaring. Before she could duck, or crawl away across the mattress, he slapped her, the burning feeling making her eyes tear up.

“No! Never! I- just, longed to feel where you had touched me.” She lied as best as she could, taking his hand that was still in mid air between hers, but it was the lousiest excuse she had ever come up with. To try and sell it, though, she sat down on the floor instead, her hands wrapped around his, begging him to believe her.

And he did. Thankfully. “Oh, beloved, I understand now. Good, good. You’re accepting your role.” He started to get closer again, but only took another step before stopping. “No doctor is good enough for you. Don’t you like the… royal lifestyle more?”

“I do. It gives me much more time to focus on what I really love.” She looked up at him, trying to smile. It was faker than her customer service one, but he still bought it. He let his eyes trail over her body once more, before announcing that he was leaving and to wait for him. She said of course, I’ve waited my whole life, I can wait a little more.

He locked the door again, and she could hear him going down to the basement. The mansion he lived in wasn’t soundproofed in the slightest, as though it was designed by an amateur.

She barely had time to think, or start hyperventilating, before she heard a bloodcurdling scream from Nina. She had heard it before in the last few days, but this one was the worst so far. The sheer terror in it, as it rang throughout the house,  would haunt her nightmares. It brought back tears to her eyes, and she sobbed as quietly as she could, just thinking about what he was doing down there with her. What would result in such a horrible cry of anguish.

But even worse, after the scream, there was dead silence. Not a single sound was heard, except for a few moments later, when she heard thumping.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Rhythmic, as though something heavy was being carried up stairs.

Chapter Text

April 3rd, 1965

Yesterday, tragedy struck for the Bosworth household. Young James Bosworth, the oldest son of Thomas Sr and his wife Rebecca, was found dead in his bed after months of sudden heart problems. His younger brother, ten year old Thomas Jr, was the one who found him at 8 am that morning.

Thomas Bosworth owns the thriving business “Bosworth and Son’s”, and his wife Rebecca (née Montgomery) is the heiress to the Montgomery fortune. James was following in his fathers footsteps, already being granted a scholarship to attend Brown for a business degree. He will be greatly missed.

—————

May 27th

She was sleeping in the bed when she was rudely awakened by him hammering on her door. She sat up, slowly, but her chains still rattled as she put her feet down on the ground. Not even the thick rug could mask the loud noise they made, although she was beginning to get used to it.

But the rattling was his cue that he could come in, so he opened the door and threw in a new pair of clothes, standing there. Waiting for her to put them on. Another fancy dress that looked uncomfortable, if she was being honest, with a corset top and a slit up the left side. He didn’t seem to understand corsets, since every single one he had given her thus far was too tight and made it hard to breathe. It didn't help that he was practically starving her, giving her close to no food per day. Although it was probably worse for Nina on, well, every front, so she didn't want to feel too bad for herself.

She took off the thin, silky night dress he had given her. And as she put on the new dress, she could feel his eyes on her, even as she was turned away. She desperately wanted to hide, but that would most likely result in another black eye. Or worse.

“Beloved?”

“Yes?” She was done and smiled at him, her hair still a mess and without any makeup on. He frowned when he saw it.

“I want you to look presentable. I’ll be back in half an hour.”

She nodded, and he closed the door as he went. But he didn’t lock it. She didn't exactly plan to escape, seeing as he was in the house and she didn't know the layout. On top of that, she was on the third floor, it would be impossible for her to jump out of a window and run to safety. But it meant something. He was beginning to trust her.

She brushed her hair and put on some light makeup, her hands shaking from pure exhaustion. She hadn’t eaten in most likely twelve hours, and the last thing she got was a pear and nothing else. If she had tried to do a smokey eye look or eyeliner, it would have made her look worse, so she kept it simple. He came back soon enough, pleased with the result.

He unchained her from the wall, putting on the other ones that chained her ankles to each other instead, and carried her out of the room. She observed everything they walked past as discreetly as possible, not wanting him to see it and get angry. He carried her all the way down to the first floor, into a dining room connected to both the kitchen and, through a corridor, the entrance.

She could see the front door.

She was put down on the floor and he ordered her to take a seat at the dinner table, which was set for two. He watched her get in her seat, but didn’t join in. He left her there, practically untied, with the front door in sight. He didn’t even have that many locks on it, it looked like any other expensive door. Not like what you expected a captor, with two kidnapped women in his house, to have for a door.

But that was part of it, maybe. He didn’t consider them kidnapped. He considered them property. On top of that, he knew they couldn’t run away. They didn’t know the area like he did, and they were starved, beaten and chained.

So she sat there, as he left for the basement, and observed the dining room. She sat at a big table, with porcelain vases and expansive flowers thrown on every surface you could imagine. Paintings, covering on the walls, or at least the walls you could cover. There were big windows, floor to ceiling, letting in beams of sunlight that hit her right in the eyes. It was hard for them not to, seeing as they lit up the entire room alone, but it practically blinded her. It also gave her a headache, unfortunately, and she only got a glimpse of the garden outside.

And not a single soul in sight. She was squinting, trying to see anything outside of the windows, to identify maybe a gardener or just some straggler walking along the road that she imagined was there. But no. Nothing.

It didn’t take long until he came back from the basement, dragging a weak and whimpering Nina behind him. Olive looked away from the window, trying to adjust her eyes back to the normal lighting and seek out some semblance of eye contact with Nina. She looked worse than before, somehow thinner and bloodier than she had been a week ago.

It took a moment for Nina to meet her gaze, but when she did, she gave Olive a weak smile. And her eyes weren’t filled with the same hopelessness they had had last week; there was a glimmer of hope there. Something that was holding her together.

He placed Nina in the kitchen, making her cook food she wouldn’t be allowed to eat. And he kept a watchful eye on her too, to make sure she wouldn’t sneak an ingredient into the apron or take a bite out of anything.

And all she could do was watch, chained, even though she desperately wanted to help.

—————

May 29th

“Are you sure this is the guy?” Hotch was looking at the file he was handed, reading it thoroughly. The rest of the team was in the room, except Garcia.

“Yes.” There was a short silence before Spencer remembered he was supposed to follow that up with the profile of the guy, Thomas Jr Bosworth.

“I looked through the letters and realized that he visited his brother's grave on the same date that Henry the Eighth’s older brother Arthur, died. Up until now, I’ve assumed that his obsession with the king started when his first wife divorced him and he watched the movie with Olive in it. But what if it started way earlier?” He paused, gauging the others' reaction. Morgan was looking through the files, Prentiss was observing him, Hotch and the files simultaneously, and Hotch was staring him down.

“Go on.”

“The fact that his brother died on the same day that Arthur died, which he also mentions here-“

He held up a letter from April 1997, and pointed at a specific paragraph.

I always visit my brother's grave, on the day he died. It’s a tradition. When he died, the family empire was left to me, and only me. That’s a cause for celebration, no?

“- was either the starting point, to deal with the grief of losing his brother, or the obsession started earlier in childhood. Either one of those cases would make him, the stalker, ten years old and the brother around fifteen when he died. My theory is, based on the wording, that he also killed his brother. That was his first victim.” Spencer looked around the room, at everyone’s slightly surprised faces. They had figured out more in the last hour than the previous nine days of non-stop working.

“And he was an adult when the letters started coming, plus most probably wealthy. So I cross referenced fifteen year old boys, from wealthy families, who died mysteriously on April 2nd before 1970. And we found him: James Bosworth. Then we found his brother, and I mean, look at this guy.” Penelope added, and motioned them to open the files she had handed them.

“He got perfect scores in school. Went to an Ivy League. But dropped out at twenty… to marry an actress and move to Los Angeles.” Derek remarked.

“That’s the first thing in a loooong list of… things. He was actually so good in school that they kept some of his essays, they won writing awards, and guess what? Most of them were about Henry The Eighth. Who would have thought. Analysis, creative writing stories, think pieces, everything was about or inspired by the lovely king. But here’s the kicker;”

Spencer took a deep breath. He knew exactly what Penelope was about to say, but it also felt so obvious that he should have seen it himself before. He had questioned Olive about it before, even, and he still didn't think about it. His mind was scattered at the worst possible moment, it seemed.

“The actress he married, Cecily Clark, worked on set with Olive in 1990, the same set that the stalker decided to barge into in 1992. He apparently visited multiple times when his wife worked there, and was seen flirting with other women on set. I guess Cecily didn’t notice until a year later, when she yelled at him for kissing another woman at his parents' funeral. ”

“Yikes. Talk about a stressor. Parents died and then divorce, I’m guessing?” Emily added, flipping through the pages herself. “He doesn’t have a record, though. Wouldn’t a guy like this have at least a misdemeanor?”

“I took that into consideration, but we can’t know for certain that he was scotch free. A family like this, they can pay a lot to keep things hush-hush.”

“That’s true. And-“

“His first girlfriend after his wife, the mistress he kissed at the funeral, worked as Anne of Cleves on “The Wives”. The same movie where Olive played young Jane Seymour. The mistress went missing in October of 1991.”

“Right when the letters started. Wasn’t he questioned, then?”

“He was, but again, he’s rich and probably has connections in the department. The case went cold like, way to quickly,”

They all looked at Hotch, who didn’t even question it. “Where does he live now?”

“Oh! I should have mentioned that. He lives outside of Templeton, at a mansion he built himself after his divorce. He demolished his parents' old house to build it. And it is aptly named The Tudor Mansion.”

“It’s faster by car then. Send us the address, Garcia. JJ, Prentiss, you’re with me. Rossi, Reid, Morgan, you’ll surround the area and take him down if needed.”

“Shouldn’t-“ Spencer protested, but he was shut down immediately by Hotch.

“No, Reid, you’re not going in there. He staked out in your apartment, he could become unpredictable if he were to see you. It’s better if you’re backup.” Hotch was staring him down, but there was still compassion behind the steel. “We don’t want you, or anyone else, hurt.”

He swallowed his protests, since he knew that that was the most likely scenario. He was the cause of this rage, if Thomas saw him he would most likely be a dead man. But he couldn’t deny that he desperately wanted to have Olive by his side again, as soon as possible. He wanted to be the one who brought her out of that house, safe, unharmed. With her head still attached.

“Okay, we also have the sketch from the sketch artist. I compared it with the pictures we have of Bosworth, and facial recognition deems it a match.”

Penelope showed both his actual picture and a sketch of the man. Spencer couldn’t look away from the sketch; since they were so incredibly alike. The drawing showed him as middle aged, but very clearly still fit and rather handsome. It was incredibly detailed; wrinkles, graying hair, it looked much more like a real person than other sketches. Because he had been to the bakery so often that Allison knew exactly what he looked like. Where his wrinkles were, how tall he was, how much of his hair was gray. He had been there often, and they didn’t know it was him.

“In case he isn’t at the house, of course. Ask around in the town, and I’ll pull his bank records. See if he bought anything in the last hour or so.”

“Good, Garcia. Everyone else, get ready.”

Hotch made a phone call, and so did JJ, contacting the local police department that they had a lead. Spencer felt his palms get sweaty, and his jaw locked itself out of stress. His stomach was turning inside out, as though someone was punching him in the gut, trying to make him puke. But he kept it together, as best as he could.

He had to. For her.

—————

May 27th

She was busy staring at Nina, trying to make sure she was real. She had heard her screaming just a few days ago.

Was it days? Was it yesterday? Memories blended together, multiple screams, multiple days locked up in the small room. She still hadn’t painted, or embroidered something, the latter making their captor exceedingly angry. That was what earned her the black eye; she didn’t play her role, and she had to pay. She felt sad though she was going mad in that room, but she refused to associate the things that brought her happiness with this place. She was going to get out. She had to.

She had to. They would pull on a thread, unravel the whole picture and then find her. Find Nina.

He looked at her, noticing her staring at Nina, so she looked away as though her eyes burned at the sight. As though it had been a mistake, and not concern for the only good that existed in this house. She let her eyes wander, hastily, over the luxurious dining area. Everything about this place screamed wealth, luxury, drama. The only thing that wouldn’t have fit with the otherwise almost baroque feel of this place was the paintings. They were familiar, from their color scheme to what they depicted, but she was hungry and dizzy and couldn’t place it. Something about them, their colors, their motifs, she had seen them before. She felt them.

She was still staring at one in particular, depicting a green field as seen through pink clouds from up above, when Nina brought her the food she had cooked. The man sat across from her at the dining table, with his plate ready to eat. It looked good, she had to give him that. Much better than everything else he had given her these last few days. Maybe that was because someone else cooked it.

“How are you still alive?” She whispered to Nina, whose eyes just widened and she walked away, stumbling a bit before she reached a pillar to hold onto. She was turned away from Olive, desperately grasping at the pillar, and her legs seemed to almost give out underneath her. But she was still holding herself up, somehow, although she was breathing heavily over just taking a few steps.

“What did you just say?” His smile was as fake as could be, and his eyes intense.

“No, nothing, I was just… complimenting the chef. That’s it.” She gave her best efforts at a genuine smile, and tried to hold onto the fork he had given her. Suddenly, the thought of eating it all made her stressed.

“Is that true, Nina?” He turned his harshness onto her, who was still struggling just holding herself up.

“Yes. Yes.”  She sounded breathless, and tried to push herself off of the pillar to stand straight. She did, for a few seconds, before leaning against it again and slowly sinking down to the floor.

“You’re lying. I can see it. You fucking bitch, you think you can hide something from me? You lying, cheating, disgusting whore-“ He got out of his chair, and stalked toward the defenseless Nina. She tried to escape, but she was too weak, only being able to grasp her arms backwards a few times without really getting anywhere before he got to her.

He grabbed her by her hair, and dragged her screaming across the floor. Olive fought to keep the tears at bay as Nina stopped screaming, having passed out from everything. He opened the basement door, still holding onto her by the hair, and threw her down. Slamming the door shut and locking it swiftly, before returning to Olive. He wasn’t calm, but he ate as though nothing had happened.

As though he hadn’t just thrown Nina down a flight of stairs. She had heard as her body hit the wooden steps, and then the stone floor. And he was sitting there, eating a steak, like it was nothing.

She couldn’t move her limbs. Picking up the fork felt like a chore that would leave her feeling fatigued, and the thought of eating made her feel sick. She looked at him, at him scarfing down his food, and felt her jaw twitching. She opened her mouth, and grasped onto the table so hard that he looked up.

But she didn’t have anything to throw up. She coughed up phlegm, but that was it. Her head fell down, and she was breathing hard through her nose. She felt the tears escaping her eyes, and the panic was setting in.

Because he wasn’t eating anymore. He’d thrown his cutlery down on the table and made his way towards her, faster than she would have liked. His hand grabbed her jaw, hard, and he twisted her bent down face to meet his. His eyes were full of rage, and he spit on her.

He didn’t hurt her otherwise, he just spit on her. She couldn’t dry it off, so she just felt the horrible texture run from her cheek down to her mouth that he was still holding open by clenching on her jaw. And she tasted it; by god, it was the worst thing she had ever tasted.

“You better not react like that ever again, you hear me?” He got closer, leaning in way too much into her space for her taste. “Especially not on our wedding night. Which is in… three days, now. If you don’t keep that mouth wide open-“ He put his thumb inside her lips, directly between her teeth. But she was too fatigued to bite down,even though she wanted to. “- then we’ll have problems. You understand me, correct?”

She just nodded, wanting his fucking finger out of her mouth before she could taste the sweat and dirt that was on it. He took his hand away, eating his dinner inhumanely fast before taking her up to her room again. She hadn’t eaten a thing.

It was on the way up, when she was still in his arms, that she remembered. She recognized the paintings.

They were hers. Every single one, she had painted and sold in her coffee shop. Some, she had sold herself to other customers. And yet, he had them.

Every. Single. One.

Chapter Text

May 29th

It must’ve been around midnight, when Olive woke up to a sudden noise. In her fatigued state, she couldn’t place what it was, but she guessed it was Nina screaming for help again. It seemed that his favorite time to haunt and torture them, although mainly Nina, was in the middle of the night when they were wistfully asleep. Maybe because it was the only time they weren’t fully aware of their surroundings, and therefore weren’t absolutely terrified of him.

That was something she had noticed about him. He thrived off of their fear. He tried to hide it, and treat her better than he was capable of, but he knew exactly what he was doing, that all of this was just a big game and they were pawns. And that if they didn’t move, look, and think the way he wanted them to, they were dead.

She tried to not move, and fall back asleep, since the chains would rattle if she moved around too much. Even though she wanted to help Nina, she knew that she couldn’t. And she was scared; deeply afraid, that he might hear her chains, and that it would make him go after her too.

She woke up in the morning again after a few bad hours of sleep, finding that he hadn’t left her anything to eat. She found the energy to move her feet out from under the cover, letting the chains hit the floor.

It was eerily quiet, without even a plank creaking in the house. The only thing she could hear was her own footsteps, and the chain links that rattled with every small step she took. 

—————

The drive to the mansion took longer than Spencer would have liked. They had an APB out on Bosworths’ car, and whilst Penelope had pulled his bank records it didn’t show anything noteworthy. At least, nothing that alerted them to his whereabouts if he wasn’t at the house.

It did, however, show an incredibly long list of purchases from fancy dress stores, good quality meat, and most nauseating; Victoria’s Secret for dozens of underwear. 

Purchased on the 22nd, two days after Olive went missing. That made both him and Penelope want to throw up, going by the sound of her voice when she announced it.

“We’re almost by the house. Rossi, there is a field right by the forest. I want you, Morgan and Reid to stake it out and make sure he can’t escape through there. We’ll take the house.” They heard Hotch over the intercom.

“Copy that.”

Seconds later, the trees opened up around the road and a big plot of land showed itself. The sign, because of course there was a sign, the whole fucking mansion wasn’t enough to show that this guy was rich, he had to have a sign, showed that they had arrived at their destination.

The Tudor Mansion.

He calmed himself down from the internal rant, and observed the house. It was massive. Three stories, although the third one was so much smaller in size it would be more appropriate to call it a tower. A massive garden stretched itself over the acres of land, ending at the foot of another forest. It seemed as though the trees cleared up just for this building, with nothing else close by. Just a road, where you drove past. It wasn’t a place where you stayed for long.

It was a gorgeous house, and a truly beautiful property, but he knew the atrocities that had been committed inside. Instead of finding it breathtaking, he was filled with disgust and anger, and he was going to tear it down stone for stone if that was needed of him.

Hotch, JJ and Prentiss drove up the dwindling road that led to the house, whilst their car continued for a stretch longer with half the police in tow. They hopped out and made their way to the edge of the forest, guns drawn, observing the house.

It was quiet, the only sounds coming from the forest. Nothing from the house or the team there. He could hear the birds singing, leaves whistling in the breeze, and other animals foraging behind him. Morgan was just a couple of feet away, his sole focus being the house.

Minutes went by. Nothing. The leaves rustled again, and Spencer became painfully aware that he was the one with the least surrounding officers. If Bosworth was to sprint off in his direction, it was purely his job to take him down.

There was a call over the intercom, and he could hear the first syllable of whatever Hotch said before he was thrown forward into a tree. He hit his head against it, and turned halfway around to locate the danger. 

He felt a tight grip around his throat.

The tall frame of Thomas Bosworth, with rage evident in his eyes, was only fully comprehensive for a moment before his eyes blurred.

—————

Olive couldn’t even sit up, with how tired she was. He hadn’t offered her anything else to eat in two days now, and she felt her patience waining. She wanted so desperately to scream at him, to punch him, to make him pay. But she couldn’t, physically, and because she needed to survive. She could wait with her screaming, in order to survive.

She lay there in her bed, eyes fluttering shut and pondering what Nina was feeling right now, when she heard a terribly loud noise. In her fatigued state, she didn’t even realize what it was until the second time she heard it.

Someone was breaking down the front door.

The terrible sound insulation made it so she could hear as the door cracked, probably swinging wide open. She sat up, slowly, her breathing heavy. She had a fleeting realization of not hearing his footsteps all morning, but that thought quickly subsided once she heard their voices.

And she recognized them. It was JJ, Emily, and Hotchner yelling “clear!” as they searched through different rooms of the house. Their footsteps got higher, closer, and she tried to make noise with her chains the best she could. Hoping, desperately hoping , that this wasn’t a dream. That it was reality. It was hard to differ between them by now, hard to remember what was real and what was her imagination, as a way to cope with her reality.

But this seemed real. And when she heard the footsteps outside her door, stopping, before a single, hard kick ruptured the door off its hinges.

She couldn’t even cry. The sight of Emily’s concentrated face as she held her gun out was a relief she couldn’t even describe. It felt like food, water, everything she had been deprived of during the last week. 

Gun still raised, Emily looked through the quarters Olive was staying in before declaring it cleared and helping her out of her chains. She wanted to throw her arms around the woman, but it looked more like a frail hug rather than the warm embrace Olive was going for.

“I need a medic.” Emily said over the intercom, before turning to her again. “Can you walk?”

“Maybe, I’ll try.” She used her legs for the first time in a day, and found that they could just barely hold her weight for a few seconds before she felt a terrible ache in them, and in her stomach. “No, I don’t- I can’t.”

“That’s fine. I’ll help you down.”

“Thank you.” The reality set in, finally, and her face broke out into a smile. She was free.

Tears were streaming down her face as Emily helped her down, JJ joining in on the second floor. All she could think about was the outside. Feeling the sun on her skin, seeing people, seeing Spencer and her family…

Where was he? He must be here somewhere, he had to be. Her smile turned into a confused look when Hotch said something into the intercom.

“House is clear, we have Olive.”

Where was he? And Nina? Why had they only found her? She looked from side to side, trying to find Spencer, to understand what was going on, when he continued. Emily and JJ carried her away to a car where she got to sit, but she still overheard the sentence he uttered.

“We found blood in the basement.”

—————

He was still being choked by Bosworth, and even in his own rage Spencer couldn’t quite push him off. His lack of oxygen certainly didn’t help.

Something toppled them, only moments after the original collision with the tree happened. The grip around his throat loosened, and he took a deep breath, feeling as though his lungs were burning after only a minute of choking. He looked back at Bosworth, who was currently being beaten down by Derek, before getting rolled over and placed in handcuffs.

“Not so cocky now, huh?” Derek mocked the older man, who seemed to have resigned to his fate.

Spencer was still trying his best to breathe normally, whilst it almost felt as though his lungs weren’t reaching the diaphragm. As though he had run a marathon straight after smoking a pack of cigarettes.

But now, it was his turn to be angry. And slightly confused. He hadn’t been able to hear what Hotch was saying before being choked, so he didn’t know what had gone wrong. Why was he in the woods?

He knew better than to aggravate Bosworth further, so he just glared in his direction whilst holding onto his neck, almost in protection. But Morgan seemed to wonder the same things that Spencer did, and it wasn’t before Rossi appeared a minute later that they knew what he had been up to.

A beheaded body had been found.

That was almost the last straw. Spencer’s posture fell, with the world crumbling around him, the feeling of despair and failure overwhelming him. He had done the best he could, but they were too late. He hadn’t been able to save her.

“Kid, it isn’t her. It’s another girl. Hotch has your- her.” Rossi changed his wording last minute, realizing that calling Olive his girlfriend around Bosworth would most likely get someone, at the very least, harmed.

It was all he needed to hear. As much as this other girl deserved justice, he needed to see her right now. Turning around and trying to sprint, heading towards the garden, where the cars were parked. He didn’t last long though, lungs still burning after being deprived of oxygen, and he opted for a quick, uneven and rather stressed walk.

Where was she. Where was she where was she wherewasshe-

He spotted her, sitting beside JJ on the back of a car and taking small bites of a sandwich. His walk got steadier, faster, and people got out of his way as he closed in. She turned her gaze from JJ, and looked up at him. He had never missed a pair of eyes so much.

She stood up from the car, sandwich still in hand, and he finally reached her. He embraced her, noting how frail she seemed.

Her arms wrapped around his torso limply, standing on her tiptoes, and she cried onto his shoulder before slumping down slightly. He noticed the movement and bent down, picking her up with remarkable ease and placing her back next to JJ. But he wouldn’t leave her to go back to the crime scene, that didn’t even have to be uttered. It had been a nonnegotiable truth for the whole nine days she had been gone.

She took another small, minuscule bite out of her sandwich, still looking at him, and he brushed hair that had fallen out from behind her ears out of her face. He couldn’t stop looking at her, taking in the features that he had missed so dearly.

“I’ll leave now, then.” JJ rose from her seat, offering it to Spencer, and he took the opportunity to hug her as well. He didn’t do that often enough.

As JJ left, he sat down next to Olive and breathed a sigh of relief. She was safe. Traumatised, but safe. There seemed to be something on her mind, which wasn’t weird, but it took her a few minutes to ask about it.

“Do you know why he wouldn’t touch me?”

“… what?”

“He didn’t touch me. He desperately wanted to, but he didn’t. Why?”

He looked at her face, where you could see the remnants of a black eye and other, smaller injuries, and it became clear that she wasn’t talking about violence. He searched his mind for an answer, coming to the only logical conclusion he had.

“Henry the Eighth and Jane Seymour got married on the 30th of May. I think he was waiting for that.”

“Thank god he did.”

A small smile spread across her lips as she heard him talk, and she leaned in closer, resting her head against his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head, before wrapping his arm around her. The sandwich was almost forgotten, and she started tracing his arm with the usual pattern. He felt tears forming at the touch, recalling how many times he had traced it himself over the last week as a way to bring himself comfort.

He picked up his phone, finally calling the number that he had avoided for days, putting in on speaker. It didn't even ring for half a second before she picked up.

“Any updates?” The voice caught Olive’s attention, and the tears in her eyes started rolling down her cheeks just from hearing it.

“Viv!” She snatched the phone out of his hand, but gave him a quick kiss as an apology for it. He didn’t mind in the first place, so he instead rested his head on top of hers as she talked away with her sister, having taken the phone of speaker mode, to keep the conversation more private.

He could hear bits and pieces from the conversation, but he didn't insert himself into it. He could hear some crying, from both ends, and Vivianne talking faster than ever before. He tried to focus on his breathing, keeping it slow and steady to not alert Olive of slight pain he felt with each breath, and as a way to meditate. He wanted to be present and alert, and soak in the feeling of having her back.

The rest of the team got back soon enough, having stuffed Bosworth in a car and taking him to the station. They seemed to want to bring something up, but with Olive still on the phone, they looked at him instead to try and initiate contact.

“Hey, Olive?” He nudged her, and she seemed to understand.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll call you later. Tell mom and dad that I’m okay, and that I’ll get to LA as soon as possible. Love you.” She hung up, and directed her attention to the team. She was smiling, although a bit warily, with the usual glimmer in her eyes absent. It was genuine, she was probably just in shock and traumatized. Who wouldn’t be?

“Okay, there’s no easy way to say this. Was there another woman here with you?”

Olive’s face fell at JJ’s question. “Yes, Nina. Don’t- didn’t you find her?”

“We found… someone.”

It got quiet, the realization slowly hitting Olive. At first, she just looked confused, but as she analyzed their faces it became clear that they hadn’t found the person alive.

“Is… is it Nina?”

“We don’t know that yet.”

“You’re not taking her to see the body.” He already knew where they were taking this, and he refused. The last thing Olive needed right now was to see the body of a woman she clearly felt affection for.

“Okay.” JJ assured him, before turning back to Olive. “Can you give us a description of Nina? At least?”

“She was ginger. Really thin, pale, uhm…” Olive looked catatonic, blinking rapidly as though holding back tears that hadn’t yet formed. She inhaled sharply, trying to gather her thoughts and give them something else. But she couldn’t remember anything more. “I’m sorry, is that.. enough? I can-“

“No, please, stay here. Can’t Garcia find a picture of Nina instead, anything?”

“Her name was Nina, something, Brendon. Pavlenski! Nina Pavlenski-Brendon.”

“Garcia, did you get that?”

“Yes, and… okay, found her. Another actress. Sending a photo to you now.”

Hotch’s phone pinged, and he showed the grainy photo of a young woman to Olive, who had to take a good look at the photo before identifying Nina with a nod.

“Can… can we go home now, please?”

“You’ll have to stay at the hospital for a while, you’ve been starved and beaten pretty bad. But after that, yeah. Spencer, you can go with her to the hospital.”

“Thank you.” He gave JJ a hug, before picking up Olive and carrying her bridal style to the ambulance. He was, once again, shocked over how thin she had gotten over just one week; it was horrific, to feel just how frail she now was. She curled up in his arms, eyes closed, pressing herself closer to his torso and seemingly breathing in his scent.

“God I’ve missed you.” He whispered it, mostly to himself, but she heard it and tried to press herself ever so slightly closer to him, although it was logistically impossible.

“I didn’t doubt you for a second.”

They reached the ambulance, and the ride back to the hospital was quiet. They spent almost the whole time holding hands, and with her delicately tracing his arm. Up and down, left and right, intricate patterns that she repeated endlessly and placed over the others she had done before. He wanted to get a tattoo of it, so that whenever he was out on a case or she just simply wasn’t by his side, he could trace the same pattern himself. So he could always experience her touch, wherever he went.

It was at the end of the ride that she first said something.

“He had all of my paintings. Every single one that I’d sold.”

“Every one of them?”

“Even some that I know I’ve sold to other people. And… I don’t know, that was the worst thing for me. That he collected my paintings.” She leant onto his shoulder for comfort. “Why did he have to take that from me as well? Couldn’t he have left something untouched, something that was mine and purely mine?”

“Olive-“

“He took my acting, he took my bakery, and he took the paintings. He even bought embroidery supplies. I’ve embroidered two things in my life, and he took that too.” She was in the middle of a rant, or panic attack, but most probably both. Her breathing was shallow, her hand was now almost clawing his arm rather than tracing it, and she seemed both angry and hopeless at the same time. “Couldn’t I just have one, tiny thing for myself? Did he have to take every semblance of my identity, and center it around him?”

“I know. The only thing to do now, is… not define yourself by this. That’s what he would want for you to do. Instead, you could… reclaim it.” Her hand stopped for a moment, and she seemed to ponder what he said. The thought of not letting this define her hadn’t even seemed to cross her mind, but since it had just happened that was logical. “One day, this will all be a footnote. Twenty years is nothing compared to the rest of it. You’ll have time to get new things, new hobbies, to reinvent yourself into who you want to be without anything to tie back to Bosworth.”

He looked into her eyes, trying to reassure her with every piece of his soul that her life wasn’t over because of this. That time would make it go away, if she allowed it to.

“Will you be there?”

“If you’ll let me be.”

Chapter Text

She was back there. She could hear his footsteps as he climbed the stairs, and his heavy breathing echoed around her room. Except, no, she wasn’t in the tower, she was down in the basement, chained up next to Nina. And so she started to crawl, she still had energy, and she crawled and clawed her way over to Nina’s lifeless body.

She was dead. And she wasn’t even close to her, she was far away, and he was descending the stairs and moving towards the body, but he wasn’t allowed to touch her, he had killed her and now he was going to do something more to her she could feel it. And he was getting closer, and closer, and closer, closer closer closerclosetooclosetooclose-

She woke up, covered in sweat, with someone hugging her tightly. In her panic, she assumed it was Bosworth, so she pushed herself away and felt herself landing on the floor. It was then she realized that she was home, safe, and she had woken up in Spencer’s arms. Just like she used to, everyday for six months before all this.

That brought her new anxiety, that she had changed, and she backed a few feet away from the bed. Curling up into a ball, and taking deep breaths to try and calm herself, desperately hoping that Spencer hadn’t woken up because of her nightmare. But of course he had — and he was at her aid after just a few moments, soothing her and doing everything he could to help her calm down again. She felt tremendous guilt, since it wasn’t the first time since she got home from the hospital this had happened. It started when she was still in the hospital, actually, with her waking up at random hours every night, anxious that Bosworth was somehow around and out to get her. He was probably just in a holding cell at the moment, and had enough money to bail himself out. She wouldn’t feel safe until he was fully behind bars, and that would take a while. Probably years.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He pulled her into a tight hug, and she tensed up for a moment. Touch was easier when she was asleep, but she softened up eventually and hugged him back. The worry melted away, as did the memory of her nightmare. She felt fine, happy even, when she was back in his arms.

“Don’t you have work in the morning?”

“I can take the day off, or work the case from home. They’ll understand.” He reassured her, still embracing her tightly.

It must’ve been a weird sight, seeing them tangled up on her bedroom floor at 3 o’clock in the morning. But no one was there to see them, so why did she care? Why did she suddenly care so much about being perceived? She hadn’t been like this before, not to this extent-

She almost spiraled again, but Spencer kept her grounded by hugging her tighter and whispering sweet nothings in her ear. She felt tears rolling down her cheeks, and it almost surprised her that they appeared first now, after the second panic attack.

“Hey, hey, it’s fine. Don’t overthink it. You’re safe. And… I can maybe, put on some coffee? Would that make you feel better?”

“Are you crazy?! No!” She acted horrified at the suggestion, making him laugh as he saw her wide eyed face. “No, let’s get back to bed. I’m tired. Sorry for…”

“I’d sacrifice a limb for you, sleep is nothing.”

“Pfffft, suuuuure. A limb.” She sat herself on the edge of the bed, looking down on him as he still sat on the ground. “Which limb though?”

“My right leg.”

“Woooow, the already injured one? You wouldn’t sacrifice your non-wounded leg for me?” She joked, feeling the last effects of her panic attack leaving her.

“I would, but come on, it’s efficient.” He was still sitting cross legged on the floor, smiling up at her. She shook her head and dried away non-existent tears from under her eyes.

“I’m so incredibly hurt at this admission.”

“Maybe I can prove my devotion to you some other way?” He moved closer, keeping up the lighthearted tone but with a promise of something more. That there was a truth to his statement.

Her eyes flickered to his lips for a moment and she leant into him, tracing his jawline with a delicate touch. God he was pretty.

“One moment, I’m weighing the options…” She teased before she kissed him, gently combing through his hair with her fingers. He deepened the kiss, and practically forced her on her back as he climbed into the bed. She forgot about the teasing then, consumed by the fire that was her emotions for this man. How she hadn’t died just from the withdrawal, of being deprived of his touch for nine days, she couldn’t fathom.

—————

It was a hard day for her. She had woken up catatonic, and had a few smaller panic attacks throughout the day. He wanted to comfort her in any way that he could, but he also knew that if they just got through the day she would feel better.

It was the day of Nina’s funeral, and although Olive had barely known her and he himself hadn’t known about her since after her death, the family still wanted both of them there. Olive had asked for the favor of bringing Vivianne along, and they readily agreed, which is why she was currently sleeping on the couch in their apartment. He had insisted that, if she wanted to, she could sleep in the bed and he took the couch, but she looked almost offended at the idea and told him that was nonsense.

None of them offered to sleep in his apartment though, for obvious reasons. He was selling the place, sooner or later, and barely ever went in there anymore after it got broken into. Vivianne wouldn’t touch his door with a ten foot pole, and Olive felt the same way, so they were all crammed into Olive’s apartment instead.

It was time to head out, and he had promised to drive there. Some of the other members of the BAU had been invited as well, but only Penelope was also going. They were the two who felt the most connected to the case, and also guilty for not finding Bosworth earlier and saving Nina’s life. Because after interviewing Olive, it was clear that she had been murdered on the early morning of the 29th. Hours before they figured out everything, making them just late enough to not have saved her.

That weighed heavy on his conscience during the entire funeral, where they greeted the big and loving family that was the Brendon’s. It was clear that despite not having seen Nina for three years, and having a strained relationship before that, hadn’t lessened the love they had for her.

During the evening, the four of them heard countless stories about her, from her taking an interest in theater and piano at three years old and finally getting a lead role in the school play at fourteen, a role that incidentally involved playing piano. How she had dreams of going to Juilliard and international boarding schools, but that she eventually settled down with a local college where she studied music and later became a piano teacher, who played at the local bar every so often and landed small roles in a few movies. Everything she had done, she had done with passion.

They didn’t want to pry on how her relationship with Bosworth had happened, but once an aunt got drunk enough they didn’t have to. She volunteered the information freely, although she had tact enough that she mainly spoke to Spencer about it rather than Olive and Vivianne.

It had, as he understood it, started when Nina played piano in the orchestra for a small theater. He came up to her, started chatting her up and talking, when she supposedly remarked that she actually liked to act herself. How after that, he insisted on asking her out, doing so multiple times before she caved and said yes, although it had been clear from the get go that she was attracted to him. Slowly, over two years time, he grew more and more controlling over her, manipulating her into cutting all of her friends and family off until all that remained was him. So when she first vanished, they didn’t even have a clue. She hadn’t contacted them in months before, and it was only when her mother went to the Tudor Mansion to ask to speak to her daughter that he told them they broke it off and she hadn’t heard from her either.

They were suspicious, of course, but they had to go through the local police department to file a missing persons report and Bosworth was heavily involved with the community. The police only interviewed him, declaring that he had a solid alibi the night people last saw Nina and letting the case go cold after just a month’s investigation. But they didn’t stop looking, and although they unfortunately trusted the police and didn’t look into Bosworth more after that, they kept looking.

Many people came up to Olive during the service, asking her about how Nina was like in her final days. The first few times, she couldn’t get a word out without crying, but she was eventually able to recite the handful of hopeful stories she had. How she seemed full of life and ready to keep going, and how the years of captivity hadn’t dulled her spirit. It brought peace onto the family members, and they all seemed thankful for her piece of the puzzle. It was comforting, he guessed, to know that she hadn’t given up. That she still fought, even after years of abuse and captivity. It dreaffirmed their image of her as this good natured, strong, wonderful girl, and he could understand that brought them peace.

By the end of the service, Olive looked absolutely deflated. All three of them seemed to catch up on that, making sure that she was okay before bidding everyone farewell. Once they dropped Penelope off at her apartment, Olive absolutely crashed, staring out the window for a short while before sleeping the rest of the way home. It wasn’t that far, but traffic was slow so it took a little while.

“I have a favor to ask you.” He asked, when they were stuck at a red light.

“Go on?” Vivianne answered, speaking in a hushed tone. They didn’t want to disturb Olive in the backseat.

“You’re totally free to decline, if you want to, of course, I’d just…”

“Out with it Reid!” She was still whispering, but using a more stern voice.

“I’m going to propose to her. That’s not a question, that’s a fact. My question is-“ He was interrupted by her excited squealing, which went on for a good minute before he could continue. “Not anytime soon, but it will happen.”

“And you need my recommendations for rings? Her ring size maybe?”

“I- yeah, that was-“

“Wait! I have an idea.” Her mind seemed to be going a hundred miles an hour, and it was a relief to see how supportive and happy she was of the idea. “If it would work for your timeline, maybe, you could wait until after my wedding? I can toss her my bouquet, as like a sign. Foreshadowing.”

“That sounds like something out of a romantic comedy.” He sounded skeptical at best, but didn’t hate the idea, and she seemed really excited about it.

“Of course it does, rom-coms were our childhood. I promise you, she would love that. As long as you don’t propose during our reception.” She pointed a finger in his direction, making a joke out of it. “No but seriously don’t do that.”

“Do you think I don’t know how much she would hate that? Not to mention how tacky it is.”

“But you’re fine with waiting until my wedding at least?”

“Yes. It’s not like I’ve already planned the proposal, and that sounds like a wonderful idea.”

She studied him for a minute, how tight his smile seemed and the tension around his eyes before breaking into a wide smile. “You have most definitely already planned the proposal. Down to the last detail.”

He sighed, trying to focus on the road. They were almost home, and he was emotionally tired after the whole day. Part of him wondered why he even brought up this conversation, but another part of him knew it was because he needed to say it out loud. To both get the permission of Olive’s best friend and sister to actually do it, and be able to confess that he had been thinking of proposing since the minute he heard her say “I love you” for the first time. 

How his every thought was somehow related to her, and that whenever he thought back onto his life, dates were now associated with her, even if they happened before her. April 15th would always be her birthday, even if the memory was from 2005 when he was without a clue that she even existed yet.

He pulled into the parking spot, and made sure the car was parked well before answering her.

“Fine, yes, maybe I have. Is that so horrible?”

“I never said it was horrible.”

“So why accuse me of it?”

“To get you to confess. Look, Reid, she-“ Vivianne pointed to the still fast asleep Olive behind him, “-is obsessed with you. That you’re obsessed with her, is very much evident. It’s written across your face. So this isn’t a PSA to not break her heart, but more so to remember that it doesn’t have to be perfect for you to propose. You don’t have to plan it down to the last, tiny detail, you can go with the flow. Now, I don’t know you as well as she does, so I might be slightly wrong in how much you plan things, but nonetheless. Don’t sweat it. Give her an ugly, plastic ring in the morning when you’ve just rolled out of bed and she wouldn’t complain.”

He scrunched up his nose at the suggestion. “I will not do that.”

“Good, I would kill you. She wouldn’t complain, but I would, because she deserves better than that.” She unbuckled herself, letting the conversation die there. But still, it felt good to know that he had Vivianne’s blessing.

So long as he put in effort into the proposal, at least.

He got out of the car himself, and woke Olive up. She gave him a drowsy smile, and the outside world stopped existing for a moment. She got up, giving him a quick kiss before taking his hand and walking towards their building, and he couldn’t stop looking at her, taking in her beauty. Her ruffled hair, her tired and half closed eyes that were such a stark contrast to how she had looked that morning because now, she seemed alive, her lips, her blushed cheeks, her nose, that small birthmark that almost looked like a freckle that was just visible next to her left eye.

How had he gotten this lucky, he didn’t know. He just knew that if she wanted him there, he would never leave her side.

—————

She turned the key, unlocking the door and stepping into her apartment. It had been a bad idea to go jogging on the warmest fucking day of the year, but she survived it.

“Welcome back lovely.” Spencer kissed the top of her head, and tried to pull her into a hug.

“No, not right now, I’m so sweaty.” She was out of breath and incredibly red in the face, she just knew it. And he still looked at her as though she was Aphrodite herself.

“I’ve survived worse.”

“I haven’t!” She escaped his arms, dragging the shirt over her head. Spencer looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“You haven’t?”

“No, being held captive has nothing on this. I could literally die right now.” He huffed out a dry laugh, used to her terrible sense of humor by this point. “I’m taking a shower, then you can hug me.”

“Sounds fair enough.”

She felt her worries fade away during the shower. It had been two months since she came home, and whilst she felt much better thanks to her support system, she was still deeply affected by that week. She still had nightmares, still woke up in the middle of the night, and her panic attacks were far more severe than before. She had stopped working in the bakery altogether, although she regularly checked up on it and came in during the least busy hours. She stopped interacting with customers, and sometimes panicked just from hearing the bell ring.

Not to mention how some days, she could barely stand to be touched. She always informed Spencer, and he always respected her autonomy during those periods, but she hated herself for not being the same. For having those scars that made any touch feel violent and restraining, as though a hug would kill her and deprive her of her freedom. She felt trapped in her own body, which just felt sadly ironic.

But today, she felt fine. If you discounted the anxiousness of Bosworth still not being in prison, but that she could live with. Otherwise, she was fine.

Then, she remembered that it was the 28th of July. The day Nina got kidnapped.

She started hyperventilating, and she turned off the water from the shower. She sat down on the floor, wrapped a towel around herself, not wanting to feel exposed right now. He felt close, as though she was back at his house and he could anytime just open the door, rip her towel off and just look at her. Not touch, he never touched her, just look. Assault her with his eyes that so clearly spoke of everything he wanted to do to her.

She took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself down. He isn’t here. There is nothing I could’ve done. He isn’t here, there is nothing I could’ve done. He isn’t here, I’m safe, I couldn’t have saved her, that wasn’t my job, there is nothing I could’ve done. This is his fault alone, and I’m free.

I’m free.

She repeated the mantra in her head for ten minutes, at least, her breath slowly evening out. She was free, she did everything she could, and it wasn’t her fault. Nina wouldn’t have faulted her. She needs to let go of the guilt.

It worked eventually, and she came out of the shower half an hour later. She didn’t even have to explain what she felt to Spencer, she just threw herself in his arms where he laid on the couch, and he let her do that. The book he was currently reading could apparently not wait though, and he read it above her head as she laid on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“What’s the book about?”

“Det svenska språket.”

She laughed at his pronunciation of the words. “Since when did you start learning Swedish? Also, it’s “Å”, not “a-o”.”

“I took it up about a week ago.”

“Fuck, then I can’t bully you. That’s actually quite good for someone who’s spoken it for a week.” 

“I’m usually quite good at learning new languages, but Swedish is absurd. How do you pronounce nurse, again?”

“Sjuksköterska.”

“Ch-u k ch-ou t-ee-rska.”

“Fine, whatever, wait until you have to pronounce “the garden” and “Santa Claus” the same way except the “E” is a liiiiiittle different intonation.”

“This was supposed to be a nice little surprise, but now I’m just deflated.” He put the book down on the coffee table, wrapping his arms around her instead. “Are you okay?”

“So you heard my ten minute break in the shower, then.” She put her ear against his chest again, focusing on his heartbeat. It was so rhythmic, and soothing.

“It was hard to miss, really.” He combed through her hair, letting his fingers trail through the slightly damp curls.

“Not really fine, no. But I will be.”

“So you want me to change the subject, then?”

“Gladly.” She was still listening to his heart, and let her eyes roam around the room. They landed on the windowsill. “You replaced the flowers again.”

“Of course I did. I always do.”

“Do you know the myth behind red roses?”

"Aphrodite's human lover got struck down by the gods, and bled out in a field of white roses, coloring them red.”

“Fuck you, I thought I could actually tell you about something for once.”

“I’m sorry?” He looked confused, unsure if she was actually irritated at his answer.

“You better be.”

He realized she was just joking and sighed with contempt, hugging her tighter. She eventually got up and did stuff around their apartment, not wanting to stay still for too long. She was restless as of late, and he tried not to think of it too much. It wasn’t ruining their life really, he just chalked it up to her wanting to be out and about more since she wasn’t chained to a wall.

It could be deeper than that, of course, but she would talk about it when she felt like talking about it. No need to pressure and profile her when his plan was to stick around forever.

“I have a question.”

“Hit me.”

“Do you want kids?”

She was caught off guard by his question, and tried to laugh it off. “Like, now?”

“No, in the future.”

“Oh.” She only thought about it for a second before answering. “Yeah, I would.”

“Good. I just realized we haven’t talked about long term goals, and I want to. Because I’m planning on this lasting.”

She smiled at him, and sat down on the couch so they were actively looking at each other. “Then let’s do that. Rip the band aid off.”

“Don’t phrase it like you’re going to break my heart, Olivia.”

The use of her actual name caught her off guard. “I’m not planning on it, Spencer?”

“Good.” He motioned for her to lay her head in his lap, so he could play with her hair. It made the normally anxiety inducing conversation much easier to get through, even though they differed on some points. Although they could compromise on having a cat or a hamster, the bigger things fit together nicely enough.

It felt really good to have that out of the way, since she really couldn’t think of a future without him by her side. She would have to survive if that did happen, but it wouldn't feel right. No one had occupied such a large piece of her heart before.

Chapter Text

Deep breath in, hold, and breath out. In, hold, out. She could do this. No worries, everything was fine. Ignoring the shaking of her legs, and hands, and Jesus even her jaw was jittery? No part of her body was relaxed as she was about to go up to the stand.

She didn’t have to testify, she knew that. There was DNA evidence that pointed toward Bosworth, they had found him in the woods, his woods, next to the… beheaded… body of Nina, hell the whole house was evidence enough for him to be convicted.

But he had a damn good lawyer, and she didn’t want to risk him even getting a slightly lower sentence. She wanted him gone. Death row or just jailed in maximum security prison, far away from her forever, it didn’t matter. Gone.

So she walked up there, as calmly and put together as she could, to give her testimony. She could feel his eyes burning into the back of her head, the stare that haunted her following her once again. But it didn’t matter right now, because he was not getting close to her. And if he did, she had multiple people in court ready to jump him. Penelope and Spencer were there for support, even her parents had flown out from California just to make sure she wouldn’t be here alone. So she felt as though she could do this. It would be fine.

In the beginning, she had hesitated on whether she would actually take the stand. The mere thought of being in his presence gave her a panic attack, so she had reasoned for multiple days whether she would, could, do it. But eventually, she realized that she had to. She had to make sure everyone knew what he had done, to her and to Nina.

Okay, this was it. She was sitting down, they were going to ask for her name, make her swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth, and then she was going to tell everyone her story.

Why were her palms so sweaty? Why couldn’t her leg stop bouncing? She tried to bore her eyes into his, but when she saw that he was already looking at her she had to avert her eyes. She was now looking everywhere but him, couldn’t even try and force herself to look in his direction. She had never known such anxiety and pure fear. She was defying him, what was to say he wouldn’t break free, run across the room and kill her right there? She was in danger, she could feel it.

“Miss Berg-Smith? Can I call you Olivia?”

It was the prosecutor talking to her now. They had gone through the formalities, and it was now time. She took a deep breath.

“Yes, you may.”

“Would you inform us what happened during your nine days of captivity?”

“Yes, of course. Uhm… well, it began on the morning of May 20th. I was getting some flour from my boyfriend's apartment, as he lives right across the hall, and I was making breakfast.” She glanced at Bosworth, who looked angry at her using the term boyfriend. It made her slightly more confident, because he was angry, but he couldn’t do anything. She could tell the story exactly as is, and he was stuck there, without the ability to take his anger out on her.

“Was he in the apartment?”

“Sp- My boyfriend? No, we had gone out the night before. He was staying over, but I had a key and no flour, so I popped over to his to grab his flour instead.”

“And what did you find there?”

“Well at first, everything seemed fine. Then I heard the door close, which was weird because I was in the kitchen and there was no wind. No windows were open either.”

“And the door was locked, when you went into the apartment?”

“Yes?”

“Did you know that the defendant had a pair of copied keys that led into mister Reid’s apartment, and your building?”

Her eyes widened. She had in fact, not known that. “I- no, and I don’t know how he could have gotten them.”

“That’s fine, just checking. Continue.”

“I- okay, I heard the door close. I turned around and he-“ she pointed at Bosworth, clearly identifying him. “-was standing there, with a raised knife. He walked over, and I was kind of frozen in fear. I had no way out, and he was a faster runner than me. So I only took a couple steps before he hit me in the head with the knife handle, I think. It was right in the back of my head.” She paused for a moment, since this part was blurry for her.

“And… he put me in his car. I was out for the whole time, but I remember the smell. It was a very distinct new car smell. And when we got to his mansion, he threw me in the basement. Next to this other girl, Nina.”

“Nina Pavlenski-Brendon?”

“Exactly. We talked a little bit, and she said she got kidnapped in July of 2007 after being in a relationship with him. She was incredibly thin, and he didn’t feed us anything while I was down there. I don’t think he ever fed Nina during the time I was there. And then, he threw down a ring. Nina informed me he liked it when we put them on, that it made him nicer. So I did.”

“This ring here, Miss Olivia?” The prosecutor held up a tiny, golden ring, and she nodded.

“That’s the one. When I did that, and he later came down, he decided to take me upstairs to a fancier room. I got fed more often up there, but I was still practically starved.”

“Could you detail everything he did to you? Physically, that is?”

“I can try. He, uhm… hit me. Punched me. Gave me a black eye, and on different occasions punched me in the stomach so hard my ribs hurt. He slapped me often, and would hold me down to the bed. But he never forced himself on me, although you could tell he really wanted to. It was as though he was waiting for a deadline, almost, and that after the deadline he could touch me. I was chained to the wall for almost the entire duration of my captivity, I still have bruises around my ankles from that. He… uhm, he would starve me, although I mentioned that. He controlled everything I wore, which often entailed really tight and short dresses that made it hard to breathe. And he always chose my underwear.”

She swallowed, holding back tears as the words left her mouth. She hadn’t told anyone these few details yet, they felt too personal. But she had to, she had to tell them everything. If it helped keep him in prison, she could reveal it. So she took another deep, shaky breath.

“There was one time. One time, when he stayed in the room whilst I changed. He did that a few times, but… this time, he got close to me, and almost… caressed my body, when I was undressed. It-“ She cut herself off, regulating her breathing that had gotten shallow and focusing on not crying.

“Is that everything, Miss Olivia?”

“Yes, I think it is. He did much more psychologically, such as having every single one of my paintings in his house. Several of them I had sold to different people over the years, but he got ahold of them somehow. And he wrote me letters from the age of nine years old, to around ten and a half, and then they began again in October of 2007.”

“Ah, of course, we haven’t discussed that part yet. So it’s true then, that he stalked you when you were a child?”

“Yes. He broke onto a movie set I was working on in 1992, with the expressed purpose of seeing me.”

“Thank you, Miss Olivia. Your honour, m-“

She blurred out the rest of the trial, only remembering that she was free to go and that when she got back to her seat Spencer held her hand really tightly. And that he was absolutely glaring daggers into Bosworths head, that was unmistakable.

She forgot everything else, and she was happier for it. All that she knew, was that the jury was entirely in agreement that he was guilty, and so was the judge. He was going to get sentenced to prison. And she didn’t have to go to the other trial and tell her story again, it was enough with this one time.

She was truly free.

Outside of the courthouse, her parents said goodbye.

“We wish we could talk more, stay for a bit, but we really have to help Venus with the planning and everything. She has made so many plans, she can barely keep track of them all.” Her mom had that irritatingly sympathetic smile on her face. “You’re a very brave girl, Greta.”

“It’s no worries mom, you’re needed back in LA, I get it.” She hugged them both goodbye, but her mum decided to turn to Spencer before leaving.

“I knew you would listen to my advice. Smart boy.” She tapped her forehead with a manicured nail, before once again waving goodbye and setting off to the hotel.

Penelope had already headed home after giving her a big hug, ensuring her that she was so, so brave for laying everything out so clearly. Even the uncomfortable parts. She felt her emotions bubble up, and was almost crying again, but held it together long enough that only Spencer had to see it in his car.

“What did my mom mean, with taking her advice?” She asked, mostly trying to distract herself from her emotions.

“Oh, she just said that you tend to push people away and that I shouldn’t let you, back when we were in LA. Also, I think she knew that I was in love with you.”

“She did? I didn’t even know.”

“Well, I was terrible at hiding it. You just refused to see it.” The comment made her smile, at least, and did make it easier to control her other feelings.

Otherwise, the ride back was mostly quiet. She only started talking again once he picked up Thai from their favorite place.

“… I’m sorry I never told you.”

“Don’t be sorry! I understand completely, okay? I do, and no one is judging you. That last part… it was hard to hear, I’ll admit. But I get it.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do. But, if you don’t mind me asking, why didn’t you tell us that it happened?” He parked the car and glanced over at her, concerned. They were home again.

“I didn’t want it to be real. He didn’t touch me otherwise, it was that one time and… if it happened once, it happened, but it also didn’t feel like it happened. Talking about it actualised it, made it much less of something that was just in my head. It’s… it’s the worst thing that happened to me, and now I have to deal with it.”

He looked at her, as though he was solving a puzzle. Like he was deciphering her mentally, and it made her want to crawl into herself even more.

“I understand. But you won’t have to deal with it alone. Ask for help if you need it, please?” He held out his hand, and she took it. Raising her hand up, he gave it a gentle kiss, before putting it down softly.

“I will.”

“Good. Now, we have to eat before this gets cold.”

He got out of the car, took the Thai and went to open her door for her.

“What a gentleman!”

“How would I dare be anything but?”

She smiled at him, trying to forget the whole day. She was halfway there, she reasoned, why not ignore that it happened at all? It had the outcome she wanted, she didn’t have to remember it for the consequences to stand.

But she also knew that would be extremely unhealthy. And no matter how much she wanted to forget the whole day, it was better to keep it as a memory and unravel it, making it hurt less in the future. As of right now, she could distract herself with Spencer’s cologne and his stories about existentialism that she really didn’t get, but she didn’t want to hurt in the long run anymore. She wanted to stop hurting.

She turned on the TV when Spencer was fetching the plates, seeing a press conference for another crime not far from here. She was going to change the channel, but it got her thinking.

“Hey, how did you keep my case out of the news?”

“Oh, we barely had to. We just informed your parents that it would be a big hindrance in the investigation if anything got out, and they managed it.”

“Ah, of course. Those years of keeping me out of the spotlight really paid off, then.”

“Most definitely. You need those years of media experience to keep a serial killer off the news.” He put down her plate of chicken curry in front of her, and she gave him a kiss for his efforts. “You know, ironically, you weren’t his Jane Seymour.”

“Wh- what?” She was just about to take a bite, and put the chicken down on her plate again to look at him with utter confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You were his Katherine Parr. You survived.”

“Oh.” She pondered that thought for a moment, before deciding to change the channel to something more upbeat. There was a Harry Potter movie on, so she made Spencer watch it with her for the fifth time and let her head rest on his shoulder for the rest of the evening.

Later, when they were in bed, she decided to ask him something she had been avoiding for the last few months. She wanted to know the timeline they had put together for Bosworth’s crimes. She wanted that closure.

He apparently killed his older brother on April 2nd 1965, but it got covered up. When he was 20 in 1975, he married Cecily Clark, an actress that made him move to LA. In 1990, his parents died in a car crash and soon after Clark filed for divorce after catching him cheating. They had a young daughter together, whom he never saw afterwards. That was his Katherine of Aragorn.

He bulldozed his family’s old house, and built the Tudor Mansion on top of it. The only thing that remained was the basement. During that time, he started openly dating his mistress, before kidnapping her the same day he wrote her the first ever letter he sent. He killed her in 1995, and he considers her to be his Anne Boleyn. They found her body in the woods, and she was both beheaded and had her ring finger cut off. That was the only thing of note they found, all other evidence was gone considering the was not much more than a skeleton when they found her.

After that, he changed up the order of Henry’s wives to give himself a happy ending. In 1997, he kidnapped his Katherine Parr, killing her im 1999. They found her body, and there was evidence of a lot of physical abuse as well as the beheading. Multiple post morgen stab wounds spoke of anger towards her, probably because she was the only one who survived him originally. She, too, had a missing ring finger.

Next was Anne of Cleves; she was kidnapped in 2001, and killed in 2005. Her body didn’t have the same wounds that they found on Katherine Parr, and other than the beheading and cut off ring finger there was no sign of torture.

Last victim was Nina. She stopped him then, since she knew the story from here. The information took a while to comprehend, and she cried for the other victims. Especially for Nina. It felt wrong that Olive survived, but Nina got killed a few hours before they would have been saved. She didn’t want to think about it.

But on some level, it felt good to know. So she curled herself up in Spencer’s arms, breathed in his scent, and tried to go to sleep. She felt safe, and she had the knowledge that Bosworth would never hurt another undeserving soul in his life.

She felt relieved, if nothing else.

—————

One and a half years later, in January 2012, it was finally time for Viv’s wedding. She was in the wedding party, as a bridesmaid, and she and Spencer were still going strong. They had moved out of the apartment building into a nearby condo, but were actually looking at houses together. It was pretty set in stone that marriage was on the horizon for them as well, and they had discussed their future together multiple times, but they were still not engaged.

Truly, it did make her slightly anxious, but her therapist told her to not overthink it. Think about all the other gestures he made, on the daily, every month, how much effort he put into the relationship otherwise. Communicate, work through your problems, don’t let them fester. So she talked to him about it, and he assured her that he was planning on proposing, just waiting for the right moment. And then, he would get down on one knee when they were on a walk, only to tie his shoe or show her a pretty flower. He knew exactly what he was doing, and it pissed her off just a little every time.

Not that she ever got mad, but he did apologize with a handwritten card or a bouquet of flowers, and it made her throw herself right back into his arms. She couldn’t really complain about the fake-outs then, right?

“Oh my god, oh my god…”

“Viv, it’s fine, you’re fine, it’s-“ She soothed her sister, who was currently panicking right before the ceremony started

“How do I look?”

“Really fucking good? Like, c’mon Vivi, you know you look good.” It was Viv’s best friend and maid of honor, Grace, that stepped in to also calm her down, and soon enough every bridesmaid was ensuring her that it was fine and she looked good and not to worry.

And then, it was time for them to walk up the aisle. She was second to walk after the maid of honor, and walked beside a groomsman she had never met before. It was all really gorgeous: fairy lights lit up the venue, which was indoors since it was currently winter, and the soft blues, purples and greens made the whole thing feel very inviting yet elegant. Her dress was lilac, in a silky fabric that hugged her body, and she felt the tears coming once the rest of the bridesmaids were done and Viv entered, wearing a beautiful mermaid gown. The wedding march was playing on a live piano, Anthony was tearing up as well, it just felt perfect.

It was exactly how Viv had imagined it as a kid. She had told Olive multiple times about every detail that she wanted, no matter how ridiculous, and whilst she had let go of the idea of glitter being thrown everywhere, most of the ideas were still present. The color scheme, which flowers she had on every table, even the venue matched the ten slightly differing versions she had heard over the last few years. God, she was almost crying again, and the last time was only five seconds ago.

Viv reached the altar, and the guests sat down again. Olive looked out onto the mass of maybe 200 people, all gathered to celebrate, trying to find one pair that she knew would be looking at her.

And he was. On the second row, in a beautiful gray suit that she helped pick out for him, she could see Spencer. He let her gaze go for just a second to focus on the bride and groom, who were currently saying their vows, before looking back at her with a smile on his face. She had never seen him look so… radiant. He was always gorgeous, but his eyes spoke of comfort and happiness that brought his looks up to a whole new level for her. It felt as though that was, in some part, her doing.

“I love you.” She mouthed to him, trying to be as subtle as possible. He saw it, and his smile got even bigger, before mouthing it back. She could feel the blush rise on her face, but she decided that it was time to turn back and focus on the vows.

“What I’m saying is that since the first time I saw you, I knew you were it for me. It took me two years to get you to see me the same way, but I hope you never regretted it. That day in the hallway, before we even knew each other, I was hoping you would drop your books just so I could help you. When you didn’t, I wished you would sit next to me in class so I could have a reason to talk to you. It was stupid that I tried to make up a reason, because just a few days later, you came up to me and told me you liked my hair. I hope it still looks okay.”

The guests laughed at Anthony’s joke, but Viv’s was the most clear one of them all. The pure happiness in her laugh was hard to miss, even with two hundred voices drowning it out.

She looked back at Spencer, who was currently focused on the couple this whole event was about. He was, most certainly, breathtaking. And she knew then, that no matter how long it took, she would stand in front of him as a bride one day. There was no other option in her mind; it was going to happen.

The couple said their I Do’s, and the whole crowd cheered. It was hard to not get swept up in the glee, and why resist it? The day was meant for celebrating, and that’s what they all did. The ceremony was over, and it was time for the reception.

She snaked through the crowd to find Spencer, finding him easily enough and taking his hand. She guided them to their seats, at a table with her closest relatives. After a quick introduction of Spencer they got a few awkward comments, such as;

“You finally have a boyfriend? It was about time, eh?”

She did her best to laugh them off, but since it was the first and only damper on the day it wasn’t too hard to forget them. Her parents made a toast, and then the maid of honor, and best man. It all went by rather quickly, and she did her best to focus on it all, but she hadn’t been to a large gathering in a while. So throughout it all, she held Spencer’s hand, tracing her usual pattern into his palm to keep her grounded and focused.

But soon, it was time for the bouquet toss, and Spencer ushered her to go. Letting his hand go, and getting into the crowd with tens of other women, she could feel the anticipation. It wasn’t likely she would actually catch it, but it was always such a fun moment that it didn’t really matter. It was the spectacle that was important.

“Three… twoooo…”

Viv let it go before saying one, sending them all scrambling to catch the bouquet. She wasn’t even really trying, and just laughed as she got squashed in the crowd. Everyone did, really, and in the end it was Grace that caught it. Holding it up victoriously, so everyone could see, before giving it to a flower girl that has stood on the outskirts of women so as to not get trampled.

It was a fun moment, and the dancing started afterward, at which she tried to make Spencer dance with her. He averted her slightly by pointing to Viv, that was apparently behind her shoulder and waiting to speak with her.

“It’s so gorgeous here! You’ve done such a good job!”

“I know! Ahhhh!” They hugged and both squealed in excitement, before Viv dragged her away into a back room. She followed, not that she had a choice, but was quite confused at why she was being dragged.

“What-“

“So, this day is about me, but I have a surprise for you!”

“Yes, I never… a surprise?”

“Close your eyes, for god's sake!” She did as she was told. “Stretch out your hands.”

She felt something being placed into her open palms, and decided to open her eyes. It was a small bouquet, with just seven red roses, that were surrounded by smaller white flowers.

“This… is gorgeous, but why?”

“Eh, you’ll find out soon enough.” Viv winked at her, before taking her free hand and leading her out into the main area again.

“What do you mean by that? That’s so ominous!”

That just earned her another annoying wink, and Viv went back to her now husband to greet more guests.

“Fine, okay, don’t explain this to me then.” She grumbled as she made her way back, smiling at Spencer and holding up the bouquet with a questioning look.

“Wow, those are beautiful.”

“Yeah, they are. Very weird thing to give to your sister though, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t know, I don’t have a sister.” She squinted her eyes, trying not to overthink his, rather weird, answer. He usually didn’t joke around in that manner, not with her at least. Was he nervous?

Well, that might just be the crowd. There was a lot of people here. She put down the flowers, and took his hands. He welcomed it, until she started to drag him to the dance floor, at which point he refused to move.

“Tråkmåns!”

“Fine, sure, I’ll dance with you.”

She smiled triumphantly, proud that she managed to sway him.

The hours went by, and they both got rather tired of both dancing and talking to her family members. Everyone seemed to have the same reactions; “wow you’re dating someone? He’s an FBI agent? But he looks like a twig! How many degrees did you say you had? ” Eventually, at around 11pm, they both decided that it was time to head back to their hotel.

Bidding farewell to the newly married couple, and hugging her parents goodbye too, and they were on their way.

“Our wedding will be smaller, right?”

“Oh absolutely, that was exhausting.” She laughed, clutching her coat tighter around her body. Even the California air was chilly in January, and it was actually snowing as they walked. In her bag lay the bouquet, that Spencer had absolutely insisted on her not forgetting. He almost seemed to care more about it than she did, which should have tipped her off that something was on. But it didn’t, for some reason.

“Hey, the hotel has a really nice view from the roof. Why don’t we go up there before going to our room?”

“Okay…?” She liked the idea, even if it wasn’t planned. She was tired and about to take her heels off, but waited until they got into the room. Her feet could hurt for a few more minutes, right?

The roof was absolutely gorgeous, especially with the snow falling around them. You could see a few stars in the night sky and to say she was mesmerized would be an understatement.

“I’m going to paint this when we get home, this is incredible.”

“It truly is, which is why…” Spencer took the bouquet out of her bag, holding it up to catch her attention. She was a bit confused at the gesture, seeing as he took it out of her bag and all.

But then, he got down on one knee. She’d confusion grew before he plucked out one of the flowers, and it had a ring attached to its stem. What was happening suddenly became very clear, and she started sobbing.

“Olivia, would you like to marry me?”

She couldn’t even answer properly, so she just nodded eagerly. He put the delicate gold ring around her ring finger, and she took a close look at the stone. It was a small diamond, surrounded by ten even smaller sapphires. It was absolutely perfect.

He got up off the ground, still holding her hand, and bent down to kiss her. The fact that he was now her fiancé hadn’t quite landed yet, and the excitement she felt was overwhelming. She smiled into the kiss, clinging to him like a lifeline as they stood on that roof, kissing in the snow.

“How… how did you plan this?”

“It was Vivianne’s idea, mostly. I wanted to propose earlier, but she wanted the bouquet-toss thing so she compromised and hid the ring inside this.” He waved the beautiful bouquet around, and she took it out of his grip before petals would start falling off. He chuckled at the movement, and kissed her again, taking her hand in his once more. 

“Do you like it? The design?” Twirling the ring around her finger, a bit nervous as he asked. She smiled even wider, and took another look at the ring.

“Are you kidding me? It’s… god, I adore it.” She shivered, beginning to feel the effects of the weather, and motioned for him that maybe they should go inside.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the ring the whole walk back to their room, making Spencer smile every time he looked at her. And the fact that he and Viv had planned it together made her heart flutter even more; it was everything she could have possibly wanted, imagined, or dreamt up.

He exceeded every expectation she had ever had, for any partner. The fact that she got to spend her life with him, was more than she could have ever asked for.

Chapter Text

April 15th, 2017

Olive woke up in the morning to their two toddlers jumping on the bed, demanding attention. She greeted the three year olds as happily as she could, for someone who just got woken up at 7 in the morning on her day off.

Okay, well, technically she was a stay at home mom and her day off started once the babysitter got there, but that didn’t make the early morning any easier. It actually took her a second to even notice that Spencer wasn’t in bed with her.

“Do you have an idea where your dad might be, darlings?” She said, sitting up and welcoming the twins into her arms. They walked all over her legs to get there, and she pretended that their small steps didn’t hurt from how heavy they were becoming.

“He’s in the kitchen!” Jason exclaimed, and handed her a thin box wrapped in wrapping paper. She gasped at the sight.

“For me?! Thank you! Gullepluttar.” She kissed Jason on his head, taking the present from him and turning to his sister, Penny. She had another small present from her hands that Olive took from her, and kissed her on the forehead as well. “What did you get me?”

“You’ll have to open it to find out.” Penny said, as though it was obvious, and rolled her eyes. It was her favorite thing to do as of late, and as irritating as it could be, it was also incredibly cute.

It was just then that Spencer entered the room, with a board of breakfast for her to eat in bed. Some toast, a croissant and yogurt filled with berries. It also had a few more presents on it.

“Happy birthday, love.” He said as he sat down beside her, giving her a kiss. He was careful with the board, setting it down gently and giving their children a stern look of “don’t you dare touch the food”.

“Thanks honey. So, what did you all get me?” She began opening the presents, acting surprised at each and every one as though she hadn’t written every single one on her wish list, and could tell from the wrapping what each of them were. Such as the very long one that was clearly a singular paintbrush, or a new cookbook that she had basically threatened Spencer to give her that one and no other, lest there be consequences.

But the point was of course not the presents, but the fact that she was currently in bed, with her kids and husband by her side, in a beautiful home they had picked out and even had slightly renovated, as a wedding gift from Morgan. She felt content, happy, and the presents weren’t the point. The cozy feeling was.

The kids left soon enough to go play with their toys, giving her and Spencer some time alone. She had eaten the breakfast already, and was just taking a moment before getting up.

“Did they have to take after you? Couldn’t they be kids that love to sleep until noon?” She asked him, still bleary eyed. She was leaning on his shoulder and listening to the sounds of the twins playing in the corridor, which echoed slightly.

“You’re going to love their teenage phase.”

“If they still wake up willingly at 7am then, I am calling the police. Or an exorcist, mark my words.” She yawned, finally getting out of bed. “So, what do you have planned for today?”

Looking over at the windowsill, she saw that the seven red roses had once again been replaced. He still, without fail, got a new bouquet once the last one wilted. But he had started to spice it up, with different arrangements and color schemes, but always keeping the red roses.

“That’s a surprise.”

“Fudge you.”

He chuckled at her offense, before taking her dishes to the kitchen. She got dressed, trying to look fancier than she usually did without wearing something that would make her unable to pick up the twins. She landed on a pair of mom jeans and white blouse, and a thick black belt to bring her waist and actually give her a silhouette. It felt fancy enough, and not overly restraining.

The plans, as it turned out, were to eat cake (that he bought from the bakery, which was still running smoothly) and otherwise behave as though it was a normal Saturday until the babysitter arrived. They went to the park, got home and ate lunch, and managed to squeeze in some time watching a movie before Andrea, the babysitter, came in at 1pm. At which point, Spencer had insisted she change into something slightly more fancy and handled the usual details of double checking with Andrea that she remembered how to take care of the babies. Toddlers, she had to remind herself. They were toddlers now.

She came down the stairs in a floral gown, with a midi skirt and flown arms. It looked how spring felt, like when the flowers finally bloomed and the sun started shining again after months of snow, false warmth and the hope that brought… and then more snow. She hadn’t had the chance to wear it yet, so she felt slightly giddy when she walked down the stairs, pairing the dress with her white heels. The way Spencer looked at her, the way his eyes softened as though he hadn’t seen her in countless beautiful dresses before and each time given her the exact same look, made her blush.

“I look pretty good for 35, huh?”

“Love, you’ll never look bad. That’s an impossibility.”

“Oh you.” She joked, but the adoration in his eyes made her soft pink cheeks grow crimson. “So, uh, you’ve got everything handled then? No questions, or..?”

“No, I’ll manage, thanks.” Andrea smiled awkwardly, before turning on her heel and directing her attention to the twins, suggesting some kind of game for the three of them.

Spencer took her hand and led her out of the house, and into their car. There, he launched into a series of kisses, trailing up her arm and onto her face. She could feel his lips through the airy fabric, and it was enough to make her blush ever so slightly more, if that was even possible.

“Haven’t you made plans for today?”

“Can’t they wait?”

“Jesus Christ…” she laughed, a bubbly sound that came straight from her chest. “You planned this whole day without my input, I don’t know if it can wait.”

“Tråkmåns.” He shot back at her, making her gasp in faked offense.

“You’re using my own insults against me?”

“But you do have a point. I actually don’t think half of these things can wait…”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “Half? There’s more than three?” He didn’t answer, just grinning from ear to ear as though her surprise was the exact reaction he had wanted. “Honey, what have you planned?”

“You’ll see, don’t fret about it.”

“Okay..” she glanced at him, trying her best to not look concerned. He had a habit of going all out for her birthdays, but it sounded extravagant this year. Something she very much did not want.

As it turns out, he was just trying to shock her. They had three activities for the entire day, involving a visit to a museum she had wanted to go to, reservations for a popular restaurant and going to the movies. It was simple, but incredibly thoughtful, and it brought her back to the start of their relationship.

That fateful night came up in her mind again, and she felt her throat tighten a bit. But she took a few deep breaths, calming herself down before the panic had a chance to take hold. Bosworth had gotten life without parole, in a maximum security prison, on the other side of the country. She had moved on from that experience; she was fine.

And she had her husband by her side, who heard her change of breath and squeezed her hand a bit tighter during the movie. He had never once complained about her panic attacks, her anxiety or even her sudden want to be out in nature much more. He just picked up his favorite book, and held her hand with his free one, making her feel more loved than she ever thought she would be. Like she, for a few fleeting days, never thought she would have the chance to be loved.

But every time they went to the park together, just to sit on a bench or maybe play chess even though she always lost, or when they pretended that the plastic food Jason brought them was soooo delicious, or whenever Penny herself insisted on playing chess against Dad and somehow oftentimes winning, despite having made ten to fifteen blunders, she was reminded of the fact that she was loved.

She was loved enough to have this life, with the house that had a paint studio for her and library for him (and her section with a few dozen books that she read from time to time), she was loved enough to wake up in his arms every morning, or a sweet message from him every morning he was away.

There was a sound in the movie, that sounded familiar, and she looked at Spencer’s face to see if he caught it too. It was the sound of a door opening, and bell ringing. She could still not hear that sound without looking up, as though a customer was waiting on the other side of a counter, no matter if she was the one who just entered a shop.

She found that he was already looking at her, and he beckoned her closer, whispering something in her ear.

“I love you.”

She grinned, trying her best to focus on what was actually happening in the movie. But it was hard, with how his eyes were fixated on her, with the soft way his pupils seemed to track her side profile.

She gave up, and turned her face back to him. He was still looking at her with that lovesick expression, the one she never got tired of seeing.

“I love you too.”

She looked deep into his eyes, forgetting about the movie and whatever it was about. It didn’t matter that she had wanted to see it long before it came out, he was beside her, and the movie could be rented.

“Do we say that too often?” He asked, with a soft smile on his lips.

“We don’t say it nearly often enough, I think. It’s a favorite of mine to say, really.” She let her gaze trail across his face, stopping at his lips, pulled up into that sweet smile that could brighten her day. “A favorite for my favorite.”

“That’s not true, your favorite is Penny.”

“Shhhh, take the compliment honey.” They were already whispering, but she got even quieter after his comment. “Don’t bring the truth up, this is about us right now.”

“I can live with third favorite. It’s not too shabby.”

“Genuinely, I do think we need to shut up now. We are at the cinema.” She chuckled, coincidentally at a funny scene, and her voice drowned in the sea of laughs that followed.

They were on their way home, exhausted after a long day, contemplating whether they should even bother going to sleep seeing as they would be woken up in about five hours anyway. But they did, eventually; wishing Andrea goodbye and hoping she made it home alright, cooing over how cute the twins looked in their pajamas and how nicely they were tucked in for the night, brushing their teeth and getting undressed, finally laying down in their bed.

“You want to know something?”

“Hmm?” She mumbled, already half asleep.

“I was afraid I was never going to grow old with you.”

“Is that why you go all out for my birthdays?” 

“That, and the fact that I just love you. But it is a factor, yes.”

“Tell you what.” She turned around in his grip, eyelids half closed, and somehow mumbled out a coherent answer. “I’m grateful, for every day we can spend together, no matter how special they are.” She kissed him, tasting his lips and savoring the smell of his cologne. She curled up in his arms, something that hadn’t changed in their seven and a half years together.

He tightened his grip around her, before they both fell asleep. As a promise, to never let her go again. That they were going to grow old together, no matter what it took.