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It’d been exactly six hundred and twenty-two days since you met him. It'd been 622 days of getting close and sharing secrets in the dark backseats of FBI-issued SUVs where Hotch or Derek or JJ couldn’t hear six hundred and twenty-two days of whispers and bad jokes and even worse coffee. But it made it somewhat better–in a bit of a twisted way, you’d admit–that in all of it even the dark, scary, horrendously unforgettable parts were shared together. You were trauma-bonded.
One of your biggest concerns was that you’d never find someone you loved and trusted that could understand what you did for a living and what kind of impact it left on you. Child abductions, mutilated bodies, clothes ripped and words carved in blood–oh, so much blood–had become a normal occurrence for you by now.
But it was nice knowing that once you went home, you still had people who knew and could know what it was like to be in that same position. And even better, they all felt the same. Your new family, the one you’d found on the sixth floor of a building owned by the FBI in Quantico, Virginia, were those people. Those people, who at the end of the day, knew what you went through. Because they did it alongside you.
So it shouldn't be so silly that during that time, from those long nine months budded a friendship with a specific member of the team. And then eventually romantic feelings.
…You thought.
Maybe it was the coworker-effect of catching feelings due to consistent close contact. Or maybe it was the drinks after work, the glances and faces you made to one another while Derek burst out with another cheesy speech after three beers in.
You couldn’t really tell where the line of platonic and romantic intersected and in all honesty, you didn’t really care. you liked wherever you and Spencer were at–and whatever you were.
Until Janine, of course. Janine Brooks–you’d learned from Garcia after a very eventful girls night–was smart and tall and strikingly beautiful. She had legs for days, as you’d found out from her Instagram, and was a frequent speaker at S.T.E.M. Expos. And Spencer was currently dating her. How he’d managed to keep it a secret for so long, you weren’t sure.
You’d rarely felt jealous in your life. You weren’t one of those people who frequently felt that kind of venom bubbling in your veins. You felt guilty. He wasn’t yours and he certainly wasn’t going to miraculously confess to some made-up love affair you’d probably made up in your head. Stolen glances, heated debates that thrilled you to no ends; weekends and almost all spare time together wasn’t a relationship. That wasn’t a guarantee of anything. Friends spend their spare time together, why would it be any different between you and him?
Your head whipped up from your cubicle upon hearing heels clacking against the floor. By now you could tell who was approaching just from their footsteps. But this wasn’t familiar. Your heart dropped to your stomach, hearing her squeal with excitement.
Christ, she was beautiful. Even more so in person. Sharp features, graceful. She didn’t walk like the rest of you mortals, but floated as if everything was a breeze to her.
Janine .
Her arms slung around his torso, head tucked into the crook of his neck. You started to feel light-headed from anger. Then followed the shame as a chaser.
“Who's this, pretty boy?”
Of course Derek would notice first. His eyes was always on the front doors; partly a learned defense mechanism, partly him waiting in anticipation for your lunch hour to start.
Spencer looked so engulfed in her and her sweetness. She looked the same, all wrapped up in him. She looked as if he looked at her a certain way, that she might combust into daisy petals or honeysuckle or something else undeniably amazing and lovely. Damn, she was pissing you off. You needed to find a way out before this feeling completely absorbed you.
But if you got up, Spencer would see you–or Derek, or Emily. And that was barely an option, because they could all read you like a book, easy, and then you’d be screwed even more. You sighed, dropping your head onto your desk before picking it up again and resuming your work, only half-listening to the interaction happening just a few feet away.
She held her hand out to him, “Janine Brooks,” she smiled with her perfect white pearly teeth. “It's really such a pleasure to meet you. Spencer tells me barely anything about his work,” she caresses his shoulder. “But I guess with him being in the FBI, I should be expecting him to keep things all hush-hush, no?“
“Yeah,” Derek chuckled, shaking her hand and giving her the subtlest of looks over. “That, I do know.”
You kept your head down, not wanting to be a part of the stiff conversation in any way. This feeling, guilt and shame and jealousy and envy all gyred in your gut. You thought about getting up again, and leaving. You could blame it on the bathroom–that was perfectly plausible. More than plausible, really. But with your luck, someone would call you over.
“Sugar, come on over here!” Derek said, with his stupidly smooth voice. Damn you, Derek Morgan.
You got up, dropping your pen onto your desk on top of the latest stack of paperwork. Taking the few steps over, you warmed up your most polite smile. You met her gaze, her bright green eyes looking back at you.
“Hi, I don’t think we’ve met before,” she held out her hand for a handshake, all courteous. “I'm Janine.”
You took it, not wanting to be rude but also at the same time wanting to find the nearest file room and just retreat into yourself. Forever. “I’ve heard,” You went onto introducing yourself, tucking your hand back into your pockets.
There was no poison in her gaze. That was the worst part of it. She was genuine, and kind, you could see it. Even the way she carried herself made you doubt if she ever had bad intentions for anyone. And, shit, she smelled good. Did you have a crush on her, too?
A grumpy, booming voice sounded over the bullpen and you were hot on your heels before hotch even finished his announcement. "Everyone, we have a case. Briefing room now,” And just like that, you’d been saved by the bell.
“Lovely meeting you,” You found yourself rushing out, racing to the round table of the briefing room. You sat down in one of the chairs nearest to the board and sighed out of relief. You let out a small smile, basking in your temporary aloneness at the round table.
“Are you okay?” Hotch asked, one dark eyebrow raised.
You let out a dismissive noise, something between a chuckle and a sigh, “ What? Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be? Do I really look that tired?” You said, trying out a joke. Thankfully it landed.
He cracked a smile, the gesture much softer than what you would’ve expected from him. His deep voice was comforting in the moment. Despite the way he was putting you under heat, his calm demeanour and his voice felt like a fresh breeze. “You’re lying. I can see you’re upset. What’s going on?” The unbothered façade cracked and a seriousness he usually reserved washed over your features.
He sat down, his face regaining its normal stoicism. His profiling of you was automatic, just like he’d reciting his coffee order to the barista across the street who so evidently has a crush on him. “Is this about the woman who came in? Spencer's girlfriend?” Too good.
“ No, ” you object a little too quickly, giving yourself away.
Hotch smirks. “Ah, so that’s it,” He says. Sometimes you wished you didn’t work with profilers. Remember secrets? Having those used to be nice.
“It is not .”
He takes a minute, wondering how he’s going to propose his next observation to you without making your eyes start spouting like a water sprinkler.
But it’s obvious now, to both of you and it’s just a matter of time before he reacts. You hope he just says nothing. You hope the rest of the team come into the room and leave him with no privacy to indulge this conversation in. But that doesn’t happen. Of course everyone’s probably still outside chatting. His eyebrows knit together, and he poses it as carefully as he can: “Do you have feelings for him?”
Tears start to well in your eyes, not from the sadness or the jealousy that’s nestled itself into your chest but from the fact that you’ve been found out. It overwhelms you, the suffocating feeling and it ties a lasso around your throat. It gets tight, a heat gathering in your ears. You’re probably all flushed and miserable-looking. There’s a sick feeling in your stomach you can’t help and you close your eyes but when you open them again, he’s still there.
He says your name once, trying to call you back into the moment. As if you could’ve ever left. “You can’t tell anyone,” You look up at him, resolute in your tone.
He sees the fear in your eyes. Fear of the future, fear of your own feelings, fear of a secret being spread that only you should’ve known. He sees nostrils flaring and eyes becoming watery in desperation. And he feels bad . “I won't. You have my word.”
On the jet– and to anyone else with eyes –he doesn’t seem like a taken man. His eyes are on you every moment they’re not scanning over the pages of a new novel or the current case at hand. He studies you, the curve of your jaw and the way the light from the small, ovaline windows makes you simply glow . You’re enchanting and almost ethereal and you’re only seven feet away. He could so easily stand up and sit with you. He could so easily throw it all to the wind, and let his feelings be known. It’s no doubt now, he feels it. He loves you. He's spent 521 days loving you… how couldn’t he have realized?
There’s a way out of this predicament, he knows it. Even if it’s the hardest option; the one that hurts a woman he’s grown so close to. Janine. Poor, sweet Janine.
But Spencer doesn’t have what it takes to break a heart. He doesn’t have what it takes to watch someone crumble and fall to pieces, nor does he have the gut to stomach it.
Janine's waiting for him when he comes back. Penelope's there too, waiting for the rest of the team, smiling. You can see her walking up to Spencer and you hear the excitement in her tone. “I called her. Figured you might wanna see her again since your lovebird lunch meetup got cut short earlier. Thank me later,” She grins, giving his boney shoulder a friendly pat, before moving on.
She bounds to him, hugging and gesturing with her hands about some restaurant she heard about she wants to go to with him. She goes on and on and all you can do is stare.
“So, what do you think of her, kid?” Derek's broad figure occupies your left field of vision.
“I don't know- I don’t know her well enough,” you huff, crossing your arms watching the scene unfold in front of you.
“Liar.”
“I’m not-”
“Don’t lie to a profiler unless you can do it well. It’s easy to tell–your whole body is tense, your arms are crossed like you’re trying to put up defense and you’ve had a look on your face like you’ve been smelling something bad for the past two days.”
“And? What does that have to do with anything?” You ask, annoyed he was able to figure you out so easily.
He takes a minute, lets out a soft sigh. His arms cross over his chest, mimicking you subconsciously. “It's okay, kid, really. You don’t have to like everyone you meet. But please, keep it civil. No one needs a war over love with three geniuses involved– it’s too dangerous ,” He says in a humorous tone. An attempt at a joke? This one doesn’t land with you.
You sigh, leaning against the desk nearest to you, which just so happens to be his. Your head landed on his shoulder and his arm wraps around you in return. “What am I supposed to do, D? It seems like every single option ends up with me losing someone or something.”
“You could just confess to him. lay it all out and tell him how you feel.”
“But what if he doesn’t feel the same?”
“Then he doesn’t feel the same. That’s it. The world won’t stop spinning, the stars won’t fall from the sky. Maybe you’ll be heartbroken for a little while, but who hasn’t?”
You grin, pulling away from his arm and delivering a playful punch. “I love you, Derek Morgan. Thank you. I gotta go.”
“Don’t do anything stupid, sugar.”
“You mean don’t do anything you would?” You hear him laugh as you jog away, a plan forming in your mind.
A plan you said? No, more like an impulsive decision to tell the cab driver Spencer's address instead of yours. So now you’re at his door in the rain and you’re clinging onto the thought that it might not be too late yet. Not too late to tell him every time he’s lived inside your heart and your head for the last year.
Your heart beats wildly in your chest and you hold down the buzzer for his apartment. “Spence? It’s me and it’s important.” It unlocks with a loud buzz and you rush up the stairs almost tripping on your feet more than too many times.
He appears almost a millisecond after you knock on the door, your voice summoning him.
“It’s freezing outside–what are you doing here?” He tries to usher you into his apartment but you hold up a hand to stop him.
You take a deep breath, trying to clear your mind and collect your thoughts so they won’t seem cluttered and incoherent. But as you exhale, you realize it doesn’t even matter. What matters most is you just telling him.
“I have something I need to say first. I know you’re with Janine, but I love you. I really do. This past year and a half of knowing you has meant everything to me. I know I shouldn't, but I miss you. I miss you even though it’s literally been less than an hour since you left the office and we spent the last two days together- but I can't stop it, and I wish I could because you’ve consumed me completely. You’re kind, generous, so smart, and you’re my best friend. You’re such a good friend to me,” You say, your chest heaving. You’re soaked, every piece of clothing stuck to your body in the most overstimulating way. “You accept me–and I get you–but here’s the thing I’ve just realized: I don’t wanna be me without you.”
It's quiet in the hallway. The only sound present is the rain beating down on the windows and your heavy breathing. His gaze strips you bare, like you’re an oyster being shucked.
His hand, soft and reliable, comes up to cup your cheek. You bite your bottom lip, almost choking on the sobs falling from your mouth. You know you’re ugly-crying to the man you love and have loved for a year but it doesn’t matter. He needs to know and so do you- and if he loves you, he’ll discard the tears and all the ugly bits you’ve decided to confide in him.
He calls your name. You’d enjoy the smooth, honeyed tone on any other day. But not now. That sweet pitch comes with a bitter aftertaste, you just know it. He stutters, “I-I… I don’t…”
You gently push his hand away and he could see the recognition of what was about to happen flash in your eyes. His lips turn upward in the sweet, soft way they always do when addressing you. But now it’s different–it’s laced with something else. You feel stupid for only now seeing it: Remorse. “I… can’t.”
You bite your lip so hard you’re sure it could bust and start bleeding any second. Eyebrows furrowed, you simply turn around and leave. Your miserable, wet shoes make schlick-ing sounds as you trek forward, not turning around. You can’t now.
You don’t hear Spencer's calls to you, you don’t hear the way his voice is slick with desperation. The blood rushing to your head is too loud. All you hear is the rain.